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Dumas,  Vol.  Twenty 







0  NEW    YORK 

.\P.    F.    COLLIEF 

M  CM  I 







ON  THE  5TH  OF  MAY,  1555,  AT  ABOUT  TWO 
O'CLOCK  IN  THE  AFTERNOON  ....      5 


HAVE  INTRODUCED  TO  HIM      .        .        .        .24 

IV.  THE  DEED  OF  PARTNERSHIP      .        .        .        .34 


VII.  HISTORY  AND  KOMANCE      .....     66 





AND  15TH  OF  NOVEMBER,  1534  .  .  .  129 

XIII.  THE  DEMON  OF  THE  SOUTH       ....  143 


MADE   TO   HIS   SON   DON   PHILIP         .  .  .155 


(D— Vol.  20 




I.  THE  COURT  OF  FRANCE      .  ...  195 

II.  THE  KING'S  HUNT      .  ....  209 

III.  CONSTABLE  AND  CARDINAL         ....  224 

IV.  WAR     .  238 




VII.  THE  ADMIRAL  KEEPS  HIS  WORD       .        .  .  278 

VIII.  THE  TENT  OF  THE  ADVENTURERS     .        .  .  288 

IX.  A  FIGHT       .                                 .  .296 

X.  M.  DE  THELIGNY                         .        .        .  .307 

XI.  THE  AWAKING  OF  M.  LE  CONNETABLE    .  .  316 

XII.  THE  ESCALADE  .  324 





LET  us  at  once  transport,  without  further  preface  or 
preamble,  those  of  our  readers  who  do  not  fear 
to  take  a  leap  of  three  centuries  across  the  past  in 
our  company,  into  the  presence  of  men  we  would  have 
them  know,  and  into  the  midst  of  events  we  would 
have  them  witness. 

The  time  is  the  5th  of  May,  of  the  year  1555.  Henry  II. 
is  reigning  over  France;  Mary  Tudor  over  England;  Charles 
Y.  over  Spain,  Germany,  Flanders,  Italy,  and  the  two  Indies 
• — that  is  to  say,  over  a  sixth  part  of  the  world. 

The  scene  opens  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  little  town 
of  Hesdin-Fert,  which  Emmanuel  Philibert,  Prince  of  Pied- 
mont, has  lately  rebuilt,  intending  it  to  take  the  place  of 
Hesdin-la-Yieux,  captured  by  him  last  year,  and  razed  to 
the  ground.  So  you  see  we  are  travelling  in  that  part  of  old 
France  which  was  then  called  Artois,  and  which  is  known 
to-day  as  the  department  of  the  Pas -de- Calais. 

We  say  of  old  France,  because  Artois  did  actually  be- 
come a  portion  of  the  patrimony  of  our  kings  under  Phi- 
lippe-Auguste,  the  conqueror  of  Saint- Jean- d' Acre  and 
Bouvines;  but,  though  it  formed  a  part  of  France  in 



1180,  and  was  given  by  Saint  Louis  to  his  younger 
brother,  Robert,  in  1237,  it  afterward  lapsed,  somehow 
or  other,  into  the  hands  of  three  women — Mahaud,  Jeanne 
L,  and  Jeanne  II. — thus  falling  under  the  control  of  three 
different  houses.  Then,  with  Marguerite,  sister  of  Jeanne 
II.  and  daughter  of  Jeanne  I.,  it  passed  to  Comte  Louis  de 
Male,  whose  daughter  brought  it,  together  with  the  coun- 
ties of  Flanders  and  Nevers,  into  the  house  of  the  Dukes 
of  Burgundy. 

Finally,  after  the  death  of  Charles  the  Bold,  Mary  of 
Burgundy,  the  last  heiress  of  the  gigantic  name  and  im- 
mense possessions  of  her  father,  made,  on  the  day  she  mar- 
ried Maximilian,  son  of  the  Emperor  Frederick  III.,  both 
name  and  possessions  part  and  parcel  of  the  domains  of  the 
house  of  Austria,  in  which  they  were  swallowed  up,  as  a 
river  is  swallowed  up  in  the  ocean. 

It  was  a  great  loss  for  France,  for  Artois  is  a  fine  and 
rich  province.  Consequently,  for  three  years,  with  varying 
fortunes  and  unforeseen  results,  Henry  II.  and  Charles  Y. 
have  been  struggling  face  to  face,  and  foot  to  foot,  the  one 
to  regain,  the  other  to  keep  it. 

During*  the  furious  war  in  which  the  son  encountered  the 
old  enemy  of  the  father,  and,  like  the  father,  was  to  have 
his  Marignano  and  Pavia,  each  had  his  good  and  bad  days, 
his  victories  and  defeats.  France  had  seen  the  army  of 
Charles  Y.  driven  in  disorder  from  the  siege  of  Metz,  and 
had  taken  Marienbourg,  Bouvines  and  Dinant;  the  Empire, 
on  the  other  hand,  had  stormed  Therouanne  and  Hesdin, 
and,  furious  at  its  defeat  before  Metz,  had  burned  the  one, 
and  levelled  the  other  to  the  ground. 

We  have  compared  Metz  to  Marignano,  and  the  compari- 
son is  not  exaggerated.  An  army  of  fifty  thousand  infantry 
and  fourteen  thousand  cavalry,  decimated  by  cold  and  dis- 
ease, had  vanished  like  a  mist,  leaving  as  the  sole  trace  of 
its  existence  ten  thousand  dead,  two  thousand  tents  and  a 
hundred  and  twenty  cannon! 

So  great  was  the  demoralization   that  the  fugitives  did 

THE  PAGE  OF  THE  DUKE  OF  SAVOY         1 

not  even  try  to  defend  themselves.  Charles  of  Bourbon 
was  pursuing  a  body  of  Spanish  cavalry;  the  captain  who 
commanded  it  halted  and  rode  straight  up  to  the  hostile 

"Prince,  duke,  or  simple  gentleman,"  he  said,  "or  what- 
ever else  you  be,  if  you  are  fighting  for  glory,  seek  it  else- 
where; for  to-day  you  are  butchering  men  too  feeble  to  fly, 
even,  far  less  to  resist  you. ' ' 

Charles  of  Bourbon  sheathed  his  sword,  and  ordered  his 
men  to  do  the  same;  and  the  Spanish  captain  and  his  troop 
continued  their  retreat  without  being  further  troubled  by 

Charles  V.  was  very  far  from  imitating  such  clemency. 
When  Therouanne  was  taken,  he  ordered  it  to  be  delivered 
up  to  pillage  and  razed  to  the  ground.  Not  only  were  the 
private  houses  destroyed,  but  even  the  churches,  monaster- 
ies, and  hospitals ;  not  a  vestige  of  a  wall  was  left  standing, 
and  that  there  might  not  be  one  stone  left  on  another,  the 
inhabitants  of  Flanders  and  Artois  were  called  in  to  scatter 
all  that  remained. 

The  summons  was  eagerly  obeyed.  The  garrison  of  The- 
rouanne had  been  a  thorn  in  the  side  of  the  people  around, 
and  they  flocked  to  it,  armed  with  spades,  hammers  and 
pickaxes,  which  they  plied  with  such  goodwill  that  the 
city  disappeared  like  Saguntum  under  the  feet  of  Hannibal, 
or  Carthage  before  the  breath  of  Scipio. 

Hesdin  was  treated  in  the  same  way  as  Therouanne. 

But,  in  the  meanwhile,  Emmanuel  Philibert  had  been 
named  commander-in-chief  of  the  troops  of  the  Empire  in 
the  Low  Countries,  and,  if  he  could  not  save  Therouanne, 
he  was  at  least  able  to  rebuild  Hesdin. 

He  had  accomplished  this  immense  work  in  a  few  months, 
and  a  new  city  sprang  up  as  if  by  enchantment,  a  quarter  of 
a  league  from  the  old.  This  new  city,  planted  in  the  middle 
of  the  swamps  of  the  Mesnil,  on  the  banks  of  the  Canche, 
was  so  well  fortified  that  it  excited  the  admiration  of  Yauban 
a  hundred  and  fifty  years  after,  although,  during  the  course 


of  these  one  "hundred  and  fifty  years  the  system  of  fortifica- 
tion had  entirely  changed. 

Its  founder  called  it  Hesdin- 7^;  that  is  to  say,  he  had 
joined,  in  order  to  compel  the  new  city  to  remember  its  ori- 
gin, these  four  letters  to  its  name,  F.  E.  E.  T.,  given  with 
the  white  cross  by  the  Emperor  of  Germany,  after  the  siege 
of  Ehodes,  to  Amadeus  the  Great,  thirteenth  count  of  Savoy; 
they  signified:  Fortitude  ejus  Rhodum  tenuit,  which  means, 
"His  valor  saved  Ehodes. " 

But  this  was  not  the  only  miracle  wrought  by  the  pro- 
motion of  the  young  general  to  whom  Charles  V.  had  just 
confided  his  army.  Thanks  to  the  rigid  discipline  which 
he  established,  the  unhappy  country,  which  for  four  years 
had  been  the  theatre  of  war,  was  beginning  to  breathe;  the 
severest  orders  were  given  to  prevent  pillaging  and  maraud- 
ing; every  officer  guilty  of  disobedience  was  disarmed  and 
imprisoned  in  his  tent  for  a  longer  or  shorter  period,  in 
sight  of  the  whole  army,  and  every  private,  taken  in  the 
act,  was  hanged. 

The  result  was  that,  as  hostilities  had  very  nearly  ceased 
on  both  sides,  during  the  winter  of  1554  and  1555,  the  last 
four  or  five  months  seemed  to  the  inhabitants  of  Artois, 
when  compared  with  the  years  that  had  elapsed  between 
the  siege  of  Metz  and  the  reconstruction  of  Hesdin,  some- 
thing like  a  golden  age. 

There  was  still,  now  and  then,  some  castle  burned  here 
and  there,  some  farm  pillaged,  or  house  plundered,  either 
by  the  French,  who  held  Abbeville,  Doullens  and  Montreuil- 
sur-Mer,  and  who  ventured  on  excursions  into  the  enemy's 
territory,  or  by  the  incorrigible  marauders,  reiters  and  gyp- 
sies who  hovered  on  the  outskirts  of  the  imperial  army;  but 
Emmanuel  Philibert  was  so  successful  in  clearing  the  country 
of  the  French,  and  dealt  such  rough  justice  to  his  own  soldiers 
that  these  catastrophies  were  becoming  daily  more  rare. 
Such,  then,  was  the  condition  of  the  province  of  Artois,  and 
especially  in  the  neighborhood  of  Hesdin- Fert,  on  the  day 
when  our  story  opens;  that  is  to  say,  the  5th  of  May,  1555. 


But  after  giving  our  readers  a  rapid  sketch  of  the  moral 
and  political  state  of  the  country,  it  remains  for  us,  in  order 
to  complete  the  picture,  to  give  them  an  idea  of  its  material 
aspect — an  aspect  that  has  totally  changed  since  that  period, 
thanks  to  the  invasions  of  manufactures  and  the  improve- 
ments in  agriculture. 

In  order  to  accomplish  this  difficult  task,  and  revive  a 
past  that  has  almost  vanished,  let  us  try  to  depict  the  scene 
which  would  meet  the  gaze  of  a  spectator  standing  with  his 
back  to  the  sea  on  the  loftiest  tower  of  Hesdin,  and  having 
under  his  eyes  the  horizon,  extending  in  a  semicircle  from 
the  northern  extremity  of  the  little  chain  of  hills  which 
hides  Bethune,  to  the  last  southern  bluff's  of  the  same  chain 
at  the  foot  of  which  Doullens  rises. 

He  would  have  first,  in  front  of  him,  advancing  in  a  point 
toward  the  banks  of  the  Canche,  the  thick  and  gloomy  forest 
of  Saint- Pol- sur-Ternoise,  whose  vast  green  foliage,  spread 
like  a  mantle  over  the  shoulders  of  the  hills,  continued  until 
its  borders  were  dipped  in  the  sources  of  the  Scarpe,  which 
is  to  the  Scheldt  what  the  Moselle  is  to  the  Rhine. 

To  the  right  of  this  forest,  and,  as  a  consequence,  to  the 
left  of  the  observer  we  are  imagining  placed  on  the  loftiest 
tower  of  Hesdin,  at  the  back  of  the  plain,  sheltered  by  the 
same  hills  that  bound  the  horizon,  the  villages  of  Enchin 
and  Fruges  indicated,  by  the  bluish  clouds  of  smoke  which 
enveloped  them  like  a  transparent  mist  or  translucent  veil, 
that  the  chilly  natives  of  these  northern  provinces  had  not 
yet  bid  adieu,  in  spite  of  the  appearance  of  the  first  days  of 
spring,  to  their  kitchen  fires,  those  jovial  and  comforting 
friends  of  the  days  of  winter. 

In  front  of  these  two  villages,  and  not  unlike  a  half- 
distrustful  sentinel,  who,  though  he  has  ventured  to  leave 
the  forest,  still  thinks  it  better  to  keep  close  to  its  border, 
rose  a  pretty  little  dwelling,  half  chateau  and  half  farm, 
called  the  Parcq. 

A  .road,  which  shimmered  like  a  gold  ribbon  on  the 
green  robe  of  the  plain,  might  be  seen  stretching  for  some 


distance  from  the  entrance  to  the  farm,  and  then  dividing 
into  two  branches,  the  one  running  straight  to  Hesdin,  the 
other  skirting  the  forest  and  connecting  the  dwellers  in 
the  Parcq  with  the  villages  of  Frevent,  Auxy-le- Chateau, 
and  Nouvion  in  Ponthieu. 

The  plain,  extending  from  these  three  places  to  Hesdin, 
formed  the  basin  opposite  the  one  we  have  just  described; 
that  is  to  say,  it  was  situated  to  the  left  of  the  basin  of 
the  forest  of  Saint- Pol,  and,  consequently,  to  the  right  of 
the  imaginary  spectator  who  has  been  our  cicerone  so  far. 

It  was  the  most  remarkable  part  of  the  landscape,  not 
by  any  means  on  account  of  the  natural  features  of  the 
ground,  but  because  of  the  fortuitous  circumstances  that 
gave  it  animation  at  the  present  moment. 

In  truth,  while  the  opposite  plain  was  covered  with 
ripening  harvests,  this  was  almost  entirely  hidden  by  the 
camp  of  the  Emperor  Charles  Y. 

This  camp,  surrounded  by  ditches,  and  hemmed  in  by 
palisades,  included  an  entire  city,  not  of  houses,  but  of  tents. 

From  the  centre  of  these  tents  rose  the  imperial  pavilion 
of  Charles  V.,  like  Notre  Dame  de  Paris  in  the  Cite",  like 
the  palace  of  the  popes  in  Avignon,  or  like  a  three-decker 
in  the  midst  of  the  crested  waves  of  the  ocean.  At  its  four 
corners  floated  four  standards,  one  of  which  ought  to  have 
sufficed  human  ambition:  the  standard  of  the  Empire,  the 
standard  of  Spain,  the  standard  of  Kome,  and  the  standard 
of  Lombardy;  for  this  hero,  this  conqueror,  this  victor,  as 
he  was  called,  had  been  crowned  four  times — at  Toledo, 
with  the  crown  of  diamonds,  as  King  of  Spain  and  the 
Indies;  at  Aix-la-Chapelle,  with  the  crown  of  silver,  as 
Emperor  of  Germany;  and,  in  fine,  at  Bologna,  with  the 
golden  crown,  as  King  of  the  Romans,  and  the  iron  crown, 
as  King  of  the  Lombards.  And  when  an  attempt  was  made 
to  have  his  coronation  take  place  at  Rome  and  Milan  in- 
stead of  Bologna,  when  it  was  shown  to  him  that  the  brief 
of  Pope  Stephen  forbade  the  golden  crown  to  be  taken  from 
the  Vatican,  and  the  decree  of  the  Emperor  Charlemagne 


prohibited  the  iron  crown  from  leaving  Monza,  the  haughty 
reply  of  this  conqueror  of  Frangois  I.  and  Luther  and  Soli- 
man  was  that  it  was  his  custom  not  to  run  after  crowns,  but 
to  have  crowns  run  after  him. 

And  note  well  that  these  four  standards  were  surmounted 
by  his  own  standard,  which  pictured  the  Pillars  of  Hercules 
no  longer  as  the  limits  of  the  Old  World,  but  as  the  gateway 
of  the  New,  and  flung  forth  to  all  the  winds  of  heaven  this 
ambitious  device,  grown  more  portentously  large  by  its  very 
mutilation,  Plus  ultra  ! 

At  about  fifty  yards  from  the  emperor's  pavilion  stood 
the  tent  of  the  commander- in-chief,  Emmanuel  Philibert,  not 
distinguishable  from  those  of  the  other  captains,  except  that 
it  bore  two  standards:  one  bearing  the  arms  of  Savoy — a  sil- 
ver cross  on  a  ground  gules,  with  these  four  letters,  whose 
meaning  we  have  already  explained,  F.  E.  E.  T. ;  and  the 
other,  his  own  private  arms,  representing  a  hand  raising  to 
heaven  a  trophy  composed  of  lances,  swords  and  pistols,  with 
this  device,  Spoliatis  arma  supersunt;  that  is  to  say,  "Arms 
are  still  left  to  the  despoiled." 

The  camp,  which  these  two  tents  overlooked,  was  divided 
into  four  quarters,  in  the  midst  of  which  crept  the  river, 
crossed  by  three  bridges.  The  first  quarter  was  intended 
for  the  Germans;  the  second  for  the  Spaniards;  the  third 
for  the  English.  The  fourth  contained  the  park  of  artillery, 
entirely  renewed  since  the  defeat  of  Metz,  and  raised  to  the 
number  of  a  hundred  and  twenty  cannons  and  fifteen  bom- 
bards, by  the  addition  of  the  pieces  taken  from  the  French 
at  Therouanne  and  Hesclin. 

On  the  breech  of  those  taken  from  the  French,  the  em- 
peror had  engraved  his  two  favorite  words,  Plus  ultra ! 
Behind  the  cannons  and  bombards  were  ranged,  in  three 
lines,  the  caissons  and  wagons  containing  the  military 
stores;  sentinels  with  drawn  swords,  but  without  arque- 
buse  or  pistol,  were  there  to  see  that  no  one  approached 
these .  volcanoes,  which  a  single  spark  would  make  burst 
forth  in  flame. 


Other  sentinels  were  stationed  outside  the  inclosure. 

In  the  streets  of  the  camp,  regulated  like  those  of  a  city, 
thousands  of  men  were  moving  about  with  military  activity, 
tempered,  nevertheless,  by  German  gravity,  Spanish  pride, 
and  English  moroseness. 

The  sun  was  glinting  on  all  these  arms,  which  sent  back 
his  rays  in  flashes;  the  wind  played  with  all  these  standards 
and  banners  and  pennons,  furling  and  unfurling  their  silky 
folds  and  brilliant  colors  at  its  own  sweet  will. 

This  activity  and  noise,  which  always  ruffle  the  surface 
of  multitudes  and  of  oceans,  formed  a  striking  contrast  to 
the  silence  and  solitude  on  the  other  side  of  the  plain,  where 
the  sun  only  lighted  up  the  shifting  mosaic  of  the  harvests, 
then  at  different  stages  of  maturity,  and  where  the  wind 
stirred  those  rustic  flowers  which  young  girls  delight  to 
weave  into  purple  and  azure  garlands  wherewith  to  adorn 
themselves  on  Sundays. 

And  now  that  we  have  devoted  the  first  chapter  of  our 
book  to  a  description  of  what  would  have  met  the  eyes  of 
an  observer  stationed  on  the  highest  tower  of  Hesdin-Fert  at 
any  time  during  the  5th  of  May,  1555,  let  us  devote  the  sec- 
ond chapter  to  certain  things  that  would  have  escaped  his 
eyes,  however  piercing  they  might  be. 



THE  things  that  would  have  escaped  his  eyes,  however 
piercing  they  might  be,   were  taking  place  in  the 
thickest,  and  consequently  gloomiest  spot  in  the  for- 
est of  Saint-Pol- sur-Ternoise,  at  the  back  of  a  grotto  which 
the  trees  enveloped  with  their  shade  and  the  ivy  with  its 
.network;  while  for  the  greater  security  of  the  present  occu- 
pants of  this  grotto,  a  sentinel,  hidden  in  the  brushwood, 
lying  flat  on  his  stomach,  and  as  motionless  as  one  of  the 


trunks  on  the  ground  around  him,  was  watching  to  see  that 
no  profane  eye  disturbed  the  important  conventicle,  to 
which,  however,  we,  in  our  capacity  of  romancer — that  is 
to  say,  magician  before  whom  all  doors  are  thrown  open — 
propose  introducing  our  readers. 

Let  us  take  advantage  of  the  moment  when  the  sentinel, 
who  has  not  seen  us,  but  whom  we  have  discovered,  turns 
his  eyes  in  the  direction  ot  the  noise  made  by  a  frightened 
goat  bounding  through  a  brake,  to  glide,  unperceived,  into 
the  grotto,  and  follow  in  its  slightest  details  the  incident 
occurring  there,  sheltered,  as  we  are,  behind  a  rocky  pro- 

This  grotto  is  occupied  by  eight  men,  differing  in  face, 
costume,  and  temper,  although,  from  the  arms  they  bear,  or 
which  lie  on  the  ground  within  reach  of  their  hands,  it  is 
clear  they  have  adopted  the  same  calling. 

One  of  them,  with  ink-stained  fingers  and  a  sly,  crafty 
countenance,  is  dipping  his  pen — with  the  nib  of  which  he 
smooths  out  one  of  those  hairs  to  be  found  on  the  surface 
of  badly  made  paper — in  an  inkhorn  such  as  law-clerks, 
ushers,  and  copyists  then  wore  at  the  girdle,  and  is  writing 
on  a  makeshift  stone  table  propped  on  two  massive  sup- 
ports; while  another,  holding  a  burning  pine  branch,  is 
illuminating  not  only  the  writer,  table,  and  paper,  but  also 
himself  and  his  six  other  companions  with  more  or  less  bril- 
liancy, according  to  their  proximity  or  remoteness. 

Undoubtedly  the  document  in  question  must  be  interest- 
ing to  the  company  at  large,  seeing  the  ardor  with  which 
they  severally  take  part  in  its  concoction. 

Three  of  them,  however,  seem  less  taken  up  than  the 
others  with  this  purely  material  concern. 

The  first  is  a  handsome  young  man,  about  twenty-four 
or  twenty-five  years  old,  elegantly  clad  in  a  cuirass  of  buf- 
falo-hide, proof  against  sword  and  dagger  surely,  if  not 
against  a  bullet.  A  maroon  velvet  jacket,  a  little  faded 
undoubtedly,  but  still  very  presentable,  after  disclosing,  at 
the  shoulder,  a  sleeve  cut  after  the  Spanish  style — that  is  to 


say,  after  the  latest  fashion — fell  about  the  length  of  four 
fingers  below  the  jerkin,  falling  in  ample  folds  over  breeches 
of  green  cloth,  also  of  the  newest  mode,  and  lost  in  a  pair  of 
boots  high  enough  to  protect  the  thighs  on  horseback,  and 
soft  and  pliant  enough  to  sink  down  below  the  knees  when 
the  wearer  is  on  foot. 

He  is  humming  a  rondeau  of  Clement  Marot,  all  the  time 
twisting  his  black  silky  mustache  with  one  hand,  and  comb- 
ing, with  the  other,  his  hair,  which  he  wears  a  little  longer 
than  was  fashionable  at  the  period,  evidently  with  the  object 
of  turning  to  the  best  account  the  soft  wavy  locks  with  which 
Nature  had  endowed  him. 

The  second  is  a  man  scarcely  thirty-six  years  old;  only 
he  has  a  face  so  scarred  and  furrowed  by  wounds  that  it  is 
impossible  to  assign  him  any  age.  His  arm  and  a  portion 
of  his  chest  are  bare;  and  on  whatever  part  of  his  body  hap- 
pens to  be  exposed  to  view,  a  series  of  scars  may  be  ob- 
served, quite  as  numerous  as  those  that  adorn  his  visage. 
He  is  engaged  in  attending  to  a  wound  which  has  denuded 
a  part  of  the  biceps;  luckily,  the  wound  is  in  the  left  arm, 
and  therefore  the  consequences  will  not  be  so  grave  as  if  it 
had  affected  the  right.  He  is  holding  between  his  teeth  the 
end  of  a  linen  bandage,  which  he  is  binding  tightly  round  a 
handful  of  lint  applied  to  the  cut,  first  having  steeped  the 
said  lint  in  a  certain  balm  prepared  according  to  the  pre- 
scription of  a  gypsy,  and  believed  by  him  to  be  infallible. 
For  that  matter,  not  a  word  of  complaint  issues  from  his 
lips,  and  he  appears  as  insensible  to  pain  as  if  the  member 
he  is  trying  to  heal  was  made  of  pine  or  of  oak. 

The  third  is  a  man  of  forty,  tall  and  thin,  with  pale  fea- 
tures, and  the  lineaments  of  an  ascetic.  He  is  on  his  knees 
in  a  corner,  slipping  a  chaplet  of  beads  between  his  fingers, 
and,  with  a  volubility  that  belongs  only  to  him,  is  hurrying 
through  a  dozen  Paters  and  a  dozen  Aves.  From  time  to 
time  his  right  hand  drops  the  chaplet,  and  resounds  on  his 
breast  with  the  reverberation  of  a  cooper's  mallet  on  an 
empty  cask.  But  after  he  has  pronounced  a  mea  culpa  two 


or  three  times  in  a  loud  voice,  he  returns  to  his  beads,  and 
runs  them  as  rapidly  through  his  fingers  as  a  monk  does  his 
rosary,  or  a  dervish  his  combolio. 

The  three  personages  we  have  still  to  describe  have  a 
character,  heavens  be  praised!  not  less  marked  than  the 
five  we  have  already  had  the  honor  of  passing  in  review 
under  the  eyes  of  our  readers. 

One  of  these  has  his  two  hands  pressed  on  the  very  table 
on  which  the  writer  is  performing  his  task ;  he  follows,  with- 
out missing  a  single  stroke,  all  the  turns  and  twists  of  the 
pen.  It  is  he  that  has  the  most  observations  to  make  on 
the  document  in  question;  and  it  must  be  admitted  that  his 
observations,  although  tinctured  with  egotism,  are  always 
full  of  artfulness,  and,  strange  to  say,  so  much  do  the  two 
things  seem  opposed,  of  sound  sense  also.  He  is  forty-five, 
has  cunning  eyes,  small  and  deep- set,  under  fair,  bushy 

Another  of  them  is  lying  flat  on  the  ground;  he  has 
found  a  stone  good  for  giving  a  sharp  edge  to  swords  and  a 
keen  point  to  daggers.  He  is  turning  the  discovery  to  ac- 
count, and,  by  repeated  rubbings  on  this  stone,  accompanied 
by  an  abundant  expenditure  of  saliva,  he  is  gradually  re- 
storing the  point  of  his  poniard,  which  had  become  blunted, 
to  its  usual  sharpness.  His  tongue,  which  sticks  out  be- 
tween his  teeth  from  a  corner  of  his  mouth,  is  itself  a  wit- 
ness to  all  the  attention  and,  we  may  add,  all  the  interest 
excited  in  him  by  his  present  occupation.  However,  this 
attention  is  not  so  absolute  as  to  hinder  him  from  lending 
an  ear  to  the  discussion.  If  the  clauses  of  the  instrument 
meet  his  approval,  he  simply  gives  a  nod  of  satisfaction ;  if, 
on  the  contrary,  it  wounds  his  moral  sense  or  sets  his  calcu- 
lations at  defiance,  he  rises,  approaches  the  scribe,  places 
the  point  of  his  dagger  on  the  paper,  with  these  four  words, 
"Pardon;  you  are  saying?"  and  does  not  raise  his  dagger 
until  he  is  perfectly  satisfied  with  the  explanation — a  satis- 
faction expressed  by  a  still  more  abundant  salivation  and 
more  furious  rubbing  of  his  dagger  on  the  stone,  thanks 


to  which  the  weapon  promises  soon  to  resume  its  pristine 

The  last,  and  here  we  must  begin  by  acknowledging  the 
wrong  we  have  done  in  ranking  him  among  those  occupied 
with  such  purely  material  interests  as  are  for  the  nonce  en- 
grossing the  scribe  and  his  assistants ;  the  last,  with  his  back 
supported  by  one  of  the  walls  of  the  grotto,  his  hands  hang- 
ing by  his  side,  and  his  eyes  raised  to  heaven,  or  rather  to 
the  damp,  gloomy  vault  on  which,  like  will-o'-the-wisps, 
the  flickering  rays>of  the  pine  torch  are  playing — the  last, 
we  say  again,  is  at  once  a  dreamer  and  a  poet.  What  is  he 
searching  for  at  the  present  moment  ?  Is  it  the  solution  of 
some  problem  such  as  were  lately  resolved  by  Christopher 
Columbus  or  Galileo  ?  Is  it  the  form  of  one  of  those  tercets 
constructed  by  Dante,  or  one  of  those  octaves  chanted  by 
Tasso  ?  Only  the  demon  that  keeps  watch  and  ward  within 
him  could  give  us  an  answer;  and  he  concerns  himself  so 
little  with  material  questions — being  entirely  absorbed  in 
the  contemplation  of  abstractions — that  he  has  allowed  all 
the  clothing  of  the  worthy  poet,  which  is  not  steel  or  copper 
or  iron,  to  fall  into  rags. 

And  now  that  we  have  so  far  sketched  the  portraits  as 
well  as  we  could,  it  is  right  to  give  a  name  to  each  of  them. 

The  individual  holding  the  pen  is  called  Procope;  he  is 
a  Norman  by  birth,  and  almost  a  jurist  by  education;  he 
lards  his  conversation  with  axioms  drawn  from  the  Roman 
law  and  aphorisms  borrowed  from  the  Capitularies  of  Char- 
lemagne. Any  one  who  is  a  party  to  an  interchange  of 
documents  with  him  may  count  on  a  lawsuit  following  close 
on  the  transaction.  It  is  true  that  whoever  will  rest  satis- 
fied with  his  word  shall  find  his  word  golden;  only  his  man- 
ner of  keeping  it  does  not  always  square  with  morality,  at 
least  as  that  virtue  is  apprehended  by  the  vulgar.  We  shall 
quote  only  a  single  example  of  this — an  example,  also, 
which  accounts  for  the  adventurous  career  he  has  adopted 
at  the  time  we  meet  him.  A  noble  lord  of  the  court  of 
Fran§ois  I.  came,  one  day,  to  propose  an  affair  to  him  and 


three  of  his  companions.  The  royal  treasurer  was  to  bring, 
that  very  evening,  a  sum  of  a  thousand  gold  crowns  from 
the  Arsenal  to  the  Louvre;  the  proposal  was  to  stop  the 
treasurer  at  the  corner  of  the  Eue  Saint- Pol,  take  the  thou- 
sand crowns  from  him,  and  share  them  as  follows:  five 
hundred  with  the  great  lord,  who  would  wait  in  the  Place 
Eoyale  until  the  job  was  done,  and  who,  as  a  tribute  to  his 
rank,  demanded  half;  the  other  half  between  Procope  and 
his  three  companions,  who  would  thus  each  receive  one  hun- 
dred and  twenty-five  crowns.  The  word  was  pledged  on 
both  sides,  and  the  matter  was  finished  according  to  agree- 
ment; only  when  the  treasurer  had  been  duly  robbed,  mur- 
dered, and  flung  into  the  river,  the  three  companions  of 
Procope  ventured  the  proposal  to  slope  toward  Notre  Dame 
instead  of  keeping  the  appointment  at  the  Place  Royale, 
and  so  save  the  whole  thousand  crowns,  instead  of  remitting 
five  hundred  of  them  to  the  noble  lord.  Whereat  Procope 
reminded  them  of  their  pledged  word. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said  gravely,  "you  forget  that  this 
would  be  to  violate  a  treaty,  to  deceive  a  client ! — No,  our 
loyalty  must  be  beyond  reproach.  We  shall  remit  to  the 
duke"  (the  great  lord  was  a  duke)  "the  five  hundred  gold 
crowns  that  belong  to  him,  every  one  of  them.  But,"  he 
continued,  seeing  that  the  proposal  excited  some  murmurs, 
"  distinguimus :  when  he  has  pocketed  them,  and  is  forced 
to  confess  that  we  are  honest  men,  nothing  will  prevent  us 
from  forming  an  ambuscade  at  the  cemetery  of  Saint-Jean, 
by  which  I  know  he  must  pass;  it  is  a  deserted  spot,  and 
quite  the  place  for  an  ambuscade.  We  shall  treat  the  duke 
as  we  did  the  treasurer;  and,  as  the  cemetery  of  Saint- Jean 
is  quite  close  to  the  river,  both  will  be  found,  to-morrow,  in 
the  nets  of  Saint- Cloud.  So,  instead  of  one  hundred  and 
twenty -five  crowns,  we  shall  have  two  hundred  and  fifty 
each,  which  two  hundred  and  fifty  we  may  enjoy  and  dis- 
pose of  without  remorse,  seeing  we  have  kept  our  word 
faithfully  to  this  good  duke!" 

The  proposal  was  accepted  with  enthusiasm,  and  the  plan 


carried  out  accordingly.  Unfortunately,  in  their  eagerness 
to  throw  the  duke  into  the  river,  the  four  partners  did  not 
perceive  that  the  duke  was  still  breathing.  The  coolness  of 
the  water  revived  him,  and,  instead  of  going  to  Saint- Cloud, 
as  Procope  expected,  he  landed  on  the  Quai  de  Grevres, 
pushed  on  to  the  Chatelet,  and  gave  the  provost  of  Paris, 
who  at  that  time  happened  to  be  M.  d'Estourville,  such  an 
accurate  description  of  the  four  bandits  that  they  judged 
it  prudent  to  quit  Paris  the  morrow  after,  being  apprehen- 
sive of  certain  legal  proceedings,  at  the  end  of  which,  not- 
withstanding Procope 's  weighty  knowledge  of  the  law,  they 
might  have  been  forced  to  abandon  a  thing  valued  more  or 
less  by  even  the  deepest  philosophers ;  that  it  to  say,  life. 

Our  four  rascals,  then,  had  left  Paris,  each  making  for 
one  of  the  four  cardinal  points.  It  was  the  lot  of  Procope 
to  seek  the  north.  Hence  it  is  we  have  the  pleasure  of 
meeting  him  again,  with  pen  in  hand,  in  the  grotto  of  Saint- 
Pol- sur-Ternoise,  selected  by  his  new  companions  on  ac- 
count of  his  singular  merit  to  draw  up  the  important  instru- 
ment we  shall  deal  with  in  a  moment. 

He  who  is  holding  a  light  for  Procope  is  named  Heinrich 
Scharfenstein.  This  unworthy  follower  of  Luther,  whom 
Charles  V. 's  ill-treatment  of  the  Huguenots  has  driven  into 
the  ranks  of  the  French  army,  along  with  his  nephew,  Franz 
Scharfenstein,  at  the  present  moment  acting  as  sentinel  out- 
side, is  of  gigantic  stature.  Indeed,  uncle  and  nephew  are 
both  colossuses,  and  are  animated  by  the  same  soul  and 
moved  by  the  same  spirit.  Many  pretend  that  this  single 
spirit  is  not  enough  for  two  bodies  each  six  feet  high ;  but 
they  are  not  of  this  opinion  themselves,  and  are  certain  that 
things  are  quite  right  as  they  are.  In  ordinary  life  they 
rarely  condescend  to  have  recourse  to  any  auxiliary  what- 
ever, be  it  man,  or  tool,  or  machine,  in  order  to  attain  the 
end  before  them.  If  this  end  is  to  move  some  enormous 
mass,  instead  of  investigating,  like  our  modern  scientists, 
the  nature  of  the  machines  that  enabled  Cleopatra  to  trans- 
port her  ships  from  the  Mediterranean  to  the  Red  Sea,  or 


of  the  engines  by  means  of  which  Titus  raised  the  gigantic 
blocks  of  the  Flavian  circus,  they  bravely  encircle  the  ob- 
jects to  be  displaced  with  their  four  arms,  knot  a  chain  with 
their  fingers  of  steel,  incapable  of  being  broken,  make  one 
simultaneous  effort  with  the  regularity  that  distinguishes 
all  their  movements,  and  the  object  leaves  the  place  it  has 
for  the  place  it  is  intended  to  have.  If  the  thing  aimed  at 
is  to  scale  a  wall  or  to  reach  a  window,  instead  of  embarrass- 
ing themselves,  like  their  companions,  with  a  heavy  ladder, 
which  hinders  their  march  when  the  expedition  succeeds, 
and  must  be  abandoned  when  the  enterprise  fails,  they  go 
unencumbered  to  the  scene  of  their  operations.  One  of 
them — it  doesn't  matter  which — braces  himself  against  the 
wall;  the  other  mounts  on  his  shoulders,  or,  if  necessary, 
stands  on  his  hands  raised  above  his  head.  With  the  help 
of  his  own  arms,  the  second  attains  an  altitude  of  eighteen 
or  twenty  feet — an  elevation  almost  always  sufficient  to  gain 
the  crest  of  a  wall  or  the  balcony  of  a  window.  In  battle 
it  is  always  the  same  system  of  physical  association:  they 
march  side  by  side,  keeping  the  same  step ;  but  there  is  this 
difference — while  the  one  is  striking,  the  other  is  plunder- 
ing. When  the  striker  is  tired  of  striking,  he  passes  his 
sword,  or  battle-axe,  or  club  to  his  companion,  just  saying 
these  words,  "Your  turn  now!"  Then  there  is  a  change  of 
characters:  the  striker  plunders,  and  the  plunderer  strikes. 
Moreover,  their  mode  of  striking  is  very  well  known  and 
highly  appreciated;  but,  as  we  have  said,  in  a  general  way, 
there  is  more  esteem  felt  for  their  arms  than  for  their  brains, 
for  their  strength  than  for  their  understanding.  And  now 
you  know  why  one  of  them  has  been  stationed  as  a  sentinel 
outside,  and  the  other  is  acting  as  a  candlestick  within. 

As  to  the  young  man  with  black  mustaches  and  curly 
hair,  who  is  crisping  his  mustaches  and  combing  his  hair, 
he  is  named  Yvonnet;  Paris  is  his  birthplace,  and  his  heart 
is  true  to  France.  Besides  the  physical  advantages  we  have 
mentioned,  it  ought  to  be  added  that  he  has  the  hands  and 
feet  of  a  woman.  In  peace  he  is  always  lamenting,  like  the 


Sybarite  of  old ;  a  crumpled  roseleaf  wounds  him ;  if  march- 
ing is  in  order,  he  is  exhausted;  and  he  becomes  dizzy  if 
any  one  hints  at  climbing.  When  he  is  asked  to  think, 
he  grows  hysterical.  He  is  as  nervous  and  impressionable 
as  a  young  girl,  and  this  sensibility  of  his  must  be  managed 
with  the  greatest  care.  In  daylight  he  has  a  horror  of 
spiders,  and  at  night  the  sight  of  a  toad  will  drive  him  out 
of  his  wits;  while  a  mouse  throws  him  into  a  fainting-fit. 
Darkness  is  equally  repugnant  to  him,  and  only  a  great 
passion  can  enable  him  to  get  the  better  of  this  antipathy. 
However,  we  must  render  him  this  justice,  he  has  always 
some  great  passion  on  hand;  but  he  almost  always  arrives 
near  his  mistress,  if  the  rendezvous  is  during  the  night, 
quite  scared  and  trembling;  and,  in  order  to  recover  his 
composure,  he  requires  as  many  reassuring  words  and  at- 
tentions and  caresses  as  were  lavished  by  Hero  on  Leander 
when  he  entered  her  tower  all  dripping  from  the  waters 
of  the  Dardanelles.  It  is  true  that  as  soon  as  he  hears  the 
trumpet,  it  is  true  that  as  soon  as  he  smells  the  powder,  it 
is  true  that  as  soon  as  he  sees  the  standards  pass,  Yvonnet 
is  no  longer  the  same  man:  there  is  a  complete  transforma- 
tion in  him ;  there  is  no  more  languor,  or  dizziness,  or  hys- 
terics. The  young  girl  becomes  a  ferocious  soldier ;  it  is  all 
cut  and  thrust  then,  and  he  is  a  regular  lion,  with  claws 
of  iron  and  teeth  of  steel.  He  who  shrank  from  mounting 
a  staircase  to  reach  the  bedchamber  of  a  pretty  woman, 
clambers  up  a  ladder,  hangs  by  a  cord,  clutches  at  a  thread 
in  order  to  be  the  first  to  reach  the  wall.  The  combat  over, 
he  washes,  with  the  greatest  care,  his  face  and  hands, 
changes  his  clothes  and  linen,  then  gradually  becomes  the 
man  we  are  now  looking  at,  curling  his  mustaches,  combing 
his  hair,  and  flipping,  with  the  end  of  his  fingers,  the  im- 
pertinent dust  that  has  fastened  on  his  garments. 

The  man  binding  up  the  wound  he  has  received  in  the 
biceps  of  his  left  arm,  is  called  Malemort.  He  is  a  sombre 
and  melancholy  character,  who  has  but  one  passion,  but  one 
love,  but  one  joy — war !  an  unfortunate  passion,  a  love  badly 


rewarded,  a  joy  short  and  fatal;  for  scarcely  has  he  had  a 
taste  of  carnage  than,  thanks  to  the  blind  and  furious  ardor 
with  which  he  throws  himself  into  the  melee,  and  to  the  little 
care  he  takes  when  striking  others  not  to  be  stricken  him- 
self, he  is  sure  to  catch  some  terrible  pike-thrust,  or  some 
awful  present  in  the  shape  of  a  musket-ball;  and  then  lie 
groans  lamentably,  not  at  the  pain  of  the  wound,  but  at  the 
sorrow  he  experiences  at  seeing  others  keep  up  the  dance 
without  him.  Fortunately,  his  flesh  heals  easily,  and  his 
bones  knit  together  with  a  speed  that  is  marvellous.  At 
the  present  moment  he  can  reckon  up  twenty- five  wounds — 
three  more  than  Caesar!  and  he  has  a  sound  expectation,  if 
the  war  continues,  of  receiving  twenty- five  new  ones  before 
that  stroke  which  will  put  an  end  to  his  glorious  and  painful 

The  lean  personage  praying  in  a  corner,  and  telling  his 
beads  on  his  knees,  is  styled  Lactance.  He  is  an  ardent 
Catholic,  and  is  afflicted  by  the  neighborhood  of  the  two 
Scharfensteins;  he  is  afraid  their  heresy  may  sully  him. 
Obliged  by  his  profession  to  fight  against  his  brothers  in 
Jesus  Christ,  and  to  kill  as  many  of  them  as  he  can,  there 
is  no  austerity  he  does  not  practice  to  counterbalance  this 
stern  necessity.  The  cloth  robe  he  is  wearing  at  present, 
like  a  kind  of  shirt,  next  the  skin,  is  lined  with  a  coat  of 
mail;  that  is,  except  we  regard  the  coat  of  mail  as  the  stuff 
and  the  cloth  as  the  lining.  However  this  may  be,  in  battle 
the  coat  of  mail  is  on  the  outside,  and  so  becomes  a  cuirass; 
when  the  battle  is  over,  the  coat  of  mail  is  on  the  inside, 
and  becomes  a  hair-shirt.  And,  for  that  matter,  it  is  surely 
a  satisfaction  to  die  by  his  hand;  for  the  person  killed  by 
this  holy  man  is  sure,  at  least,  of  not  wanting  prayers. 
In  the  last  engagement  he  slew  two  Spaniards  and  one 
Englishman;  and,  as  he  is  in  debt  to  them,  particularly  on 
account  of  the  heresy  of  the  Englishman,  who  cannot  be 
satisfied  by  an  ordinary  De  Profundis,  he  is  -crowding  Pater 
and  Ave  on  Pater  and  Ave,  leaving  to  his  companions  the 
care  of  the  purely  temporal  concerns  they  are  absorbed  in 


at  the  present  moment.  When  he  has  settled  his  account 
with  heaven,  he  will  descend  to  earth  and  sign  the  docu- 
ment, not  without  the  erasure  and  addition  of  some  clauses 
rendered  necessary  by  his  tardy  intervention. 

The  man  resting  his  two  hands  on  the  table,  and  watch- 
ing with  an  attention  that  never  wanders — being,  in  this 
respect,  the  exact  opposite  of  Lactance — every  penstroke  of 
Procope,  is  called  Maldent.  He  was  born  at  Noyon,  his 
father  being  of  Le  Mans  and  his  mother  of  Picardy. 
He  has  been  foolish  and  prodigal  in  his  young  days;  and 
so,  now  that  he  has  attained  an  age  of  sobriety  and  wis- 
dom, he  will  make  up  for  lost  time,  and  manage  his  affairs 
prudently.  He  has  had  a  multitude  of  adventures,  which 
he  recounts  with  a  simplicity  that  is  not  without  its  charm. 
But  it  has  to  be  admitted  that  this  simplicity  disappears 
entirely  when  he  and  Procope  debate  some  point  of  law. 
Then  they  realize  the  legend  of  the  two  Gaspards — the  one 
of  Le  Mans,  the  other  Norman — a  legend  of  which  they 
are  perhaps  the  real  heroes.  However,  Maldent  gives  and 
receives  a  sword- thrust  bravely;  and,  although  he  has  not 
the  strength  of  Heinrich  or  Franz  Scharfenstein,  the  courage 
of  YVonnet,  or  the  impetuosity  of  Malemort,  he  is  at  need 
a  comrade  that  may  be  relied  on,  and  will  not  desert  a  friend 
in  trouble. 

The  grinder  sharpening  the  dagger,  and  trying  the  point 
of  it  on  his  nail,  answers  to  the  name  of  Pilletrousse.  He 
is  a  thoroughbred  freebooter.  He  has,  turn  about,  served 
Spaniards  and  Englishmen.  But  the  English  are  too  great 
hands  at  a  bargain,  and  the  Spaniards  are  not  the  best  of 
pay;  so  he  has  decided  to  work  on  his  own  account.  Pille- 
trousse prowls  about  the  highways ;  during  the  night,  espe- 
cially, the  highways  are  full  of  pillagers  of  all  nations. 
Pilletrousse  pillages  the  pillagers;  only  he  respects  the 
French,  who  are  almost  his  fellow-countrymen.  Pille- 
trousse is  a  Proven9al;  Pilletrousse  is  even  good-hearted. 
If  they  are  poor,  he  helps  them  along;  if  they  are  weak, 
he  protects  them;  if  they  are  sick,  he  nurses  them;  but, 


if  lie  meet  a  real  fellow-countryman — that  is  to  say,  a  man 
born  between  Mount  Yiso  and  the  mouths  of  the  Ehone, 
between  the  Comtat  and  Frejus — the  latter  can  dispose  of 
Pilletrousse  body  and  soul,  money  and  blood ;  trou  de  laire  ! 
you  would  think  Pilletrousse  was  the  obliged  party ! 

In  fine,  the  ninth  and  last,  he  with  his  back  to  the  wall, 
and  his  arms  moving  this  way  and  .that,  and  his  eyes  raised 
to  heaven,  is  named  Fracasso.  He  is,  as  we  have  stated,  a 
poet  and  a  dreamer:  very  far  from  resembling  Yvomiet, 
whom  the  darkness  frightens,  he  loves  those  fine  nights 
lighted  by  the  stars  alone;  he  loves  the  craggy  banks  of 
rivers;  he  loves  the  resounding  shores  of  the  sea.  Unfor- 
tunately, as  he  is  forced  to  follow  the  French  army  wherever 
it  goes — for,  although  an  Italian,  he  has  pledged  his  sword  to 
the  cause  of  Henry  II. — he  is  not  free  to  wander  according 
to  his  inclination;  but  what  does  it  matter?  To  the  poet 
everything  serves  for  inspiration;  to  the  dreamer  every- 
thing supplies  material  for  his  dreams;  only,  distraction  is 
a  necessity  for  dreamers  and  poets,  and  distraction  is  ren- 
dered almost  impossible  in  the  career  adopted  by  Fracasso. 
Thus  often,  in  the  middle  of  the  fight,  Frascasso  stops  sud- 
denly to  listen  to  the  notes  of  a  clarion,  to  view  a  passing 
cloud,  to  admire  some  fine  feat  of  arms  performed  before 
his  eyes.  Then  the  foeman  in  front  of  Fracasso  profits  by 
this  distraction  to  deal  some  terrible  blow  that  awakes  the 
dreamer  from  his  dreams,  the  poet  from  his  ecstasy.  But 
woe  to  that  foeman  if,  despite  the  advantage  given  him,  he 
has  taken  his  measures  badly,  and  has  not  at  once  stunned 
our  Fracasso !  Fracasso  is  sure  to  exact  vengeance,  not  for 
the  blow  received,  but  to  punish  the  ill-bred  person  who 
has  brought  him  down  from  the  seventh  heaven,  where 
he  was  floating,  upborne  by  the  multi-colored  pinions  of 
imagination  and  fancy. 

And  now  that  we  have,  after  the  manner  of  the  blind 
old  bard  divine,  made  the  catalogue  of  our  adventurers — 
some  of  whom  cannot  be  quite  unknown  to  such  of  our 
friends  as  have  read  "Ascanio"  and  "The  Two  Dianas" — 


we  must  recount  the  cause  of  their  meeting  in  this  grotto, 
and  the  nature  of  the  mysterious  document  they  are  so 
anxiously  engaged  on. 



ON  the  morning  of  this  same  day,  the  5th  of  May, 
1555,  a  little  troop  of  four  men,  who  seemed  to 
form  a  part  of  the  garrison  of  Doullens,  had  left 
that  city  by  slipping  out  of  the  Arras  gate,  as  soon  as  this 
gate  had  been,  we  will  not  say  open,  but  half -open. 

These  four  men,  muffled  up  in  long  cloaks,  equally  ser- 
viceable for  concealing  their  weapons  and  guarding  them 
from  the  stiff  morning  breeze,  followed,  with  all  sorts  of 
precautions,  the  banks  of  the  little  river  Authie,  until  they 
reached  its  source.  From  thence  they  diverged  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  little  chain  of  hills  we  have  already  so  often  men- 
tioned, continued  their  course,  always  with  the  same  pre- 
cautions, along  its  western  slope,  and,  after  a  two  hours' 
journey,  at  last  arrived  at  the  outskirts  of  the  forest  of 
Saint- Pol- sur-Ternoise.  There,  one  of  them,  who  appeared 
more  familiar  than  the  others  with  the  locality,  took  com- 
mand of  the  little  band,  and,  guiding  himself  at  one  time 
by  a  tree  more  leafy  or  more  devoid  of  branches  than  its 
fellows,  at  another,  renewing  his  acquaintance  with  a  rock 
or  a  sheet  of  water,  he  at  length  reached  the  grotto  to  which 
we  ourselves  conducted  the  reader  in  the  beginning  of  the 
preceding  chapter. 

Then  he  made  a  sign  to  his  companions  to  wait  a  mo- 
ment, looked  with  a  certain  anxiety  at  some  grass  that 
seemed  freshly  trampled  on,  at  some  branches  that  seemed 
recently  broken,  and,  throwing  himself  flat  on  his  stomach, 
and  crawling  like  a  snake,  disappeared  within  the  cavern. 


His  comrades,  who  stayed  outside,  heard  the  echo  of  his 
voice;  but  the  tones  denoted  nothing  alarming.  He  was 
interrogating  the  recesses  of  the  grotto;  and  as  these  re- 
cesses answered  him  only  by  silence  and  solitude,  as  the 
triple  echo  of  his  voice  was  the  only  sound  he  heard  in  re- 
sponse to  his  triple  call,  he  soon  reappeared  at  the  entrance 
and  made  a  sign  to  his  comrades  to  follow  him. 

The  three  comrades  did  so,  and,  after  some  obstacles  that 
were  easily  overcome,  found  themselves  in  the  interior  of 
the  cave. 

"Ah!"  murmured  the  one  who  had  so  skilfully  con- 
ducted them,  with  a  sigh  of  heartfelt  satisfaction,  "tandem 
ad  terminum  eamus  /" 

"Which  means?"  asked  one  of  the  three  adventurers, 
in  a  very  pronounced  Picard  accent. 

"Which  means,  my  dear  Maldent,  that  we  are  approach- 
ing, or  have  approached,  the  term  of  our  expedition. ' ' 

"Pardon,  Monsieur  Procope, "  said  another  adventurer, 
in  a  strong  Teutonic  accent,  "but  I  don't  very  well  under- 
stand. Do  you,  Heinrich?" 

"No,  I  don't  understand  either." 

"And  why  the  devil  should  you  want  to  understand?" 
replied  Procope — for  the  reader  has  already  guessed  that  the 
person  addressed  by  Franz  Scharfenstein  was  our  legist 
Procope,  or  Brogobe,  as  we  should  have  to  write,  if  we  pro- 
posed reproducing  the  impossible  patois  of  our  two  Germans. 
"If  I  and  Maldent  understand,  what  else  is  required?" 

"Ya, "  replied  the  two  Germans,  philosophically;  "that's 
all  that's  required." 

"Well,  then,"  said  Procope,  "let  us  sit  down  and  eat  a 
bite  and  drain  a  glass,  to  pass  away  the  time;  and  while  we 
are  doing  so,  I'll  explain  everything." 

"Ya,  ya!"  said  Franz  Scharfenstein;  "let  us  eat  a  bite 
and  drain  a  glass,  and  while  we  are  doing  so  he'll  explain 
everything. ' ' 

The  adventurers  looked  round  them,  and,  thanks  to  the 
fact  that  their  eyes  were  growing  accustomed  to  the  dark- 


ness,  which,  besides,  was  less  great  at  the  entrance  to  the 
grotto  than  in  its  depths,  they  perceived  three  stones,  which 
they  drew  close  together,  in  order  to  be  able  to  talk  more 

As  a  fourth  one  could  not  be  found,  Heinrich  Scharfen- 
stein  politely  offered  his  to  Procope,  who  was  without  a 
seat;  but  Procope  thanked  him  with  the  same  courtesy, 
stretched  his  cloak  on  the  ground,  and  lay  down  on  it. 

Then  bread,  cold  meat,  and  wine  were  taken  from  the 
wallets  carried  by  the  two  giants;  the  whole  was  placed  in 
the  centre  of  the  semicircle,  of  which  the  three  adventur- 
ers formed  the  arc,  and  Procope,  lying  at  full  length,  the 
chord;  after  this  they  attacked  their  improvised  breakfast 
with  a  fury  that  showed  their  morning  promenade  had  not 
been  without  its  effect  on  the  appetite  of  the  feasters. 

For  nearly  ten  minutes  nothing  was  heard  but  the  sound 
of  jaws  grinding,  with  a  regularity  that  would  have  done 
honor  to  machines,  bread  and  meat,  and  even  the  very 
bones  of  the  fowls  borrowed  from  the  neighboring  farm- 
yards, and  composing  the  most  delicate  part  of  the  repast. 

Maldent  was  the  first  to  find  his  tongue. 

' '  You  were  saying,  my  dear  Procope,  that,  while  eating 
a  bite,  you  would  explain  your  plan.  The  eating  is  more 
than  half  over — at  least,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned.  Begin, 
then,  your  explanation.  I  am  listening. ' ' 

"Ya!"  said  Franz,  with  his  mouth  full;  "we  are  listen- 


"Well,  it  is  thus — Ecce  res  judicanda,  as  they  say  in  the 
law  courts. ' ' 

"Silence,  you  Scharfensteins!"  exclaimed  Maldent. - 

"Why,  I  haven't  said  one  word,"  replied  Franz. 

' '  Neither  have  I, ' '  continued  Heinrich. 

"Ah!  I  thought  I  had  heard—" 

"And  I,  too,"  said  Procope. 

"All  right;  some  fox  we  have  disturbed  in  his  hole. 
Go  on,  Procope,  go  on!" 


"Well,  then,  you'll  have  it  in  a  nutshell.  About  a 
quarter  of  a  league  from  here  there  is  a  pretty  little  farm- 
house— ' ' 

"Why,  you  promised  us  a  chateau!"  observed  Maldent. 

"Goodness  gracious!  aren't  you  particular,  now?"  said 
Procope.  ' 'Well,  then,  agreed,  I  apologize.  About  a  quar- 
ter of  a  league  from  here  there  is  a  pretty  little  chateau — " 

"Farmhouse  or  chateau  doesn't  matter,"  said  Heinrich 
Scharf enstein ;  "the  thing  that  does,  is  the  booty  we  are 
likely  to  get  there!" 

"Bravo,  Heinrich!  that's  the  way  to  talk !  But  this  in- 
fernal scamp  Maldent  quibbles  like  an  attorney.  I  will 
continue. ' ' 

"Ay,  continue." 

"About  a  quarter  of  a  league  from  here,  then,  there  is 
a  charming  country-house,  inhabitated  only  by  the  proprie- 
tors and  one  male  and  one  female  servant —  It  is  true  the 
farmer  and  his  workmen  are  living  at  some  distance. ' ' 

"How  many  do  they  all  number?"  asked  Heinrich. 

' '  Ten,  or  thereaboiit, ' '  replied  Procope. 

"My  nephew  and  myself  will  give  a  good  account  of  the 
ten.  Eh,  nephew  Franz  ?" 

"Ya,  mein  uncle,"  replied  Franz,  with  the  laconism  of  a 

"Well,"  continued  Procope,  "the  affair  is  settled;  we'll 
spend  the  time  till  nightfall  drinking  and  eating  and  telling 
stories — ' ' 

"Drinking  and  eating,  particularly,"  said  Franz. 

"Then  at  nightfall,"  continued  Procope,  "we  leave  here 
just  as  noiselessly  as  we  came;  we  gain  the  border  of  the 
wood,  and  creep  along  a  sunken  road,  which  I  know  well, 
up  to  the  foot  of  the  wall.  There  Franz  will  mount  on  his 
uncle's  shoulders,  or  Heinrich  on  his  nephew's;  the  one  on 
the  shoulders  of  the  other  will  climb  over  the  wall  and  open 
the  gate.  The  gate  open — you  understand,  Maldent?  the 
gate .  open — you  understand,  you,  Scharf  enstein  ? — the  gate 
open,  we  enter. ' ' 

(2)_y0l.  20 


"Not  without  us,  I  venture  to  hope,"  said  a  voice  two 
steps  behind  the  adventurers — a  voice  so  strongly  accentu- 
ated that  it  not  only  made  Procope  and  Maldent  start,  but 
even  the  two  colossuses. 

"Treason!"  cried  Procope,  bounding  on  his  feet,  and 
taking  a  step  backward. 

"Treason!"  shouted  Maldent,  trying  to  penetrate  the 
darkness  with  his  eyes,  but  not  stirring  from  his  place. 

"Treason!"  cried  the  two  Scharfensteins  together,  draw- 
ing their  swords,  and  making  a  step  forward. 

"Ah!  a  fight.  You  want  a  fight?  Well,  I'm  not  dis- 
agreeable. Here,  Lactance!  here,  Fracasso!  here,  Male- 

A  triple  howl  resounded  from  the  back  of  the  cavern, 
indicating  that  those  appealed  to  were  perfectly  willing  to 

"A  moment!  a  moment,  Pilletrousse!"  said  Procope, 
who  had  recognized  the  fourth  adventurer  by  his  voice; 
"what  the  devil!  we  are  not  Turks  or  gypsies,  to  cut  one 
another's  throats  in  the  middle  of  the  night  without  trying 
to  come  to  an  understanding  first.  Let  us  have  a  light,  so 
that  we  can  see  each  other's  faces,  and  so  know  with  whom 
we  have  to  do.  Then  let  us  arrange  matters,  if  possible ;  if 
not,  why,  we  can  fight!" 

"Let  us  have  the  fighting  first,"  said  a  gloomy  voice, 
which  issued  from  the  depths  of  the  grotto,  but  really 
seemed  to  issue  from  the  depths  of  hell. 

' ' Silence,  Malemort ! ' '  said  Pilletrousse ;  "in  my  opinion, 
Procope 's  proposal  is  most  acceptable.  What  do  you  say, 
Lactance?  and  you,  Fracasso?" 

"I  say,"  replied  Lactance,  "that  if  this  proposal  may 
save  the  life  of  one  of  our  brothers,  I  accept  it. ' ' 

' '  And  yet  there  would  have  been  something  so  poetic  in 
fighting  in  a  grotto,  where  the  dead  might  also  be  entombed ! 
but  as  we  must  not  sacrifice  material  interests  even  to 
poetry,"  said  Fracasso,  dolefully,  "I  subscribe  to  the  opin- 
ion of  Pilletrousse  and  Lactance. ' ' 


"But  I  insist  we  have  a  fight  for  it!"'  growled  Malemort. 

"Now  look  here,  you  attend  to  your  arm,  and  don't 
bother  us,"  said  Pilletrousse ;  "we  are  three  against  you, 
and  Procope,  who  is  a  lawyer,  will  tell  you  that  when  three 
are  against  one  the  three  always  have  the  best  of  the 
argument. ' ' 

Malemort  gave  vent  to  a  roar  of  anguish  at  seeing  him- 
self miss  such  a  splendid  chance  of  getting  a  fresh  wound; 
but  he  took  the  advice  of  Pilletrousse,  and  yielded  to  the 
judgment  of  the  majority,  although  he  by  no  means  con- 
curred in  its  soundness. 

During  this  time  Lactance  and  Maldent  were  each  busy 
striking  a  light,  and,  as  both  bands  were  anxious  to  have  a 
clear  view  of  the  situation,  two  pine  torches,  covered  with 
tow  and  smeared  with  pitch,  burst  into  flame  at  the  same 
moment,  and  illuminated  the  cave  and  its  tenants  with  their 
double  glare. 

We  have  explored  the  cave ;  we  have  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  its  tenants.  We  have,  therefore,  no  longer  any 
need  to  describe  the  one  or  depict  the  other;  all  that  re- 
mains for  us  is  to  describe  and  depict  the  fashion  in  which 
they  were  grouped. 

At  the  back  of  the  grotto  were  stationed  Pilletrousse, 
Malemort,  Lactance,  and  Fracasso;  in  front  the  two  Schar- 
fensteins,  Maldent,  and  Procope. 

Pilletrousse  had  kept  his  position  in  the  van;  behind 
him  Malemort  was  biting  his  fist  with  rage ;  near  Malemort 
was  Lactance,  with  a  torch  in  his  hand,  and  trying  to  soothe 
his  bellicose  companion:  Fracasso,  on  his  knees,  was,  like 
Agis  at  the  tomb  of  Leonidas,  tying  his  sandal,  in  order, 
like  that  hero,  to  be  prepared  for  war  while  invoking  peace. 

The  two  Scharfensteins  formed,  as  we  have  already 
stated,  the  vanguard  on  the  opposite  side;  about  a  yard 
behind  them  was  Maldent;  and  a  yard  behind  him  was 

The  two  torches  lighted  all  the  circular  part  of  the 
grotto.  A  single  recess  near  the  door,  containing  quite  a 


heap  of  fern,  intended,  no  doubt,  to  become  the  bed  of  the 
future  anchorite,  who  might  fancy  the  cavern  for  a  home, 
remained  in  shadow. 

A  beam  of  light,  gliding  through  the  opening  of  the 
grotto,  was  making  vain  efforts  to  struggle  with  its  palish 
tint  against  the  almost  blood- red  glare  cast  by  the  two 

The  whole  formed  a  gloomy  and  warlike  spectacle,  and 
would  have  made  an  admirable  scene  in  one  of  our  modern 

Our  adventurers,  for  the  most  part,  knew  one  another 
already:  they  had  already  seen  what  they  could  severally 
do  on  the  field  of  battle;  but  there  they  were  struggling 
against  the  common  enemy,  not  making  preparations  for 
mutual  slaughter. 

Fearless  as  were  their  hearts,  every  man  of  them  was  not 
the  less  impressed  by  the  seriousness  of  the  situation. 

But  the  one  who  took  the  clearest  and  most  impartial 
view  of  the  momentous  issue  was  decidedly  our  legist  Pro- 

So  he  advanced  toward  his  adversaries,  without,  how- 
ever, passing  beyond  the  line  the  two  Scharfensteins  traced. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "we  have  been  united  in  desiring 
to  see  one  another,  and  our  desire  is  fulfilled.  It  is  some- 
thing gained:  you  see  us,  and  we  see  you;  therefore  both 
sides  know  their  chances.  We  are  four  against  four,  but 
with  us  are  these  two  gentlemen — just  look  at  them"  (and 
he  pointed  to  Heinrich  and  Franz  Scharfenstein) — "which 
authorizes  me  to  say  almost  that  we  are  eight  against  four. ' ' 

At  this  imprudent  gasconade,  not  only  did  one  simul- 
taneous cry  burst  forth  from  the  mouths  of  Pilletrousse, 
Malemort,  Lactance,  and  Fracasso,  but  their  swords  again 
leaped  from  their  scabbards. 

Procope  saw  that  he  had  forgotten  his  usual  tact,  and 
had  made  a  blunder.  He  tried  to  recover  ground. 

" Gentlemen, "  he  said,  "I  do  not  claim  that  even  with 
eight  against  four  the  victory  would  be  certain  when  these 


four  are  named  Pilletrousse,  Malemort,  Lactance,  and  Fra- 
casso. ' ' 

This  sort  of  postscript  seemed  to  smooth  matters  down 
a  little,  though  Malemort  continued  to  growl  under  his 

"Well,  come  to  the  point,  then!"  cried  Pilletrousse. 

"Yes,"  answered  Procope,  "ad  eventum  festina.  Well, 
then,  gentlemen,  I  was  about  to  say  that,  putting  aside  the 
uncertain  chances  of  a  combat,  we  ought  to  try  to  come  to 
some  arrangement.  Now,  we  are  engaged  in  a  kind  of  law- 
suit, jacens  sub  judice  Us  est ;  how  shall  we  bring  this  lawsuit 
to  a  close  ?  In  the  first  place,  by  a  pure  and  simple  state- 
ment of  the  case ;  this  will  prove  we  have  right  on  our  side. 
Who  got  the  idea  yesterday  of  seizing  the  little  farmhouse, 
or,  as  you  prefer  calling  it,  the  little  Chateau  du  Parcq  ?  I 
and  those  gentlemen.  Who  left  Doullens  to  put  the  plan 
in  execution  ?  I  and  those  gentlemen.  Who  came  to  this 
grotto  to  arrange  the  proper  course  to  be  pursued  during 
the  approaching  night?  I  and  those  gentlemen  again. 
Finally,  who  has  matured  the  plan,  developed  it  in  your 
presence,  and  so  inspired  you  with  the  desire  of  becoming 
partners  in  our  association  ?  I  and  those  gentlemen,  of 
course.  Answer,  Pilletrousse,  and  tell  us  whether  the  con- 
duct of  an  enterprise,  without  let  or  hindrance,  does  not 
belong  to  those  who  have  had  the  priority  both  of  the  idea 
and  its  execution  ?  Dixi  /" 

Pilletrousse  burst  out  laughing;  Fracasso  shrugged  his 
shoulders;  Lactance  shook  his  torch;  and  Malemort  mur- 
mured, "A  fight!" 

"What  makes  you  laugh,  Pilletrousse?"  asked  Procope, 
gravely,  disdaining  to  address  the  others-,  and  determined 
to  hold  a  parley  only  with  the  person  who  seemed  for  the 
moment  to  have  become  chief  of  the  band. 

' '  What  makes  me  laugh,  my  dear  Procope, ' '  replied  the 
adventurer  to  whom  the  question  was  addressed,  "is  the 
profound  assurance  with  which  you  set  forth  your  rights, 
especially  as  this  very  exposition  of  yours,  if  we  were  to 


admit  the  principles  on  which  you  base  it,  does  not  leave 
you  and  your  companions  a  leg  to  stand  on.  Yes,  I  admit 
that  the  conduct  of  an  enterprise  belongs,  without  let  or 
hindrance,  to  those  who  have  the  priority  both  of  idea  and 
execution — ' ' 

"Ah!"  interrupted  Procope,  triumphantly. 

4 '  Yes,  but  excuse  me  a  moment ;  the  idea  of  seizing  the 
Chateau  du  Parcq,  as  you  prefer  to  call  it,  came  to  you  yes- 
terday evening,  did  it  not?  Well,  it  came  to  us  the  day 
before  yesterday.  You  left  Doullens  this  morning  to  exe- 
cute the  idea?  We  left  Montreuil-sur-Mer  yesterday  even- 
ing with  the  same  object.  You  entered  the  grotto  an  hour 
ago?  We  have  been  here  for  the  last  four  hours.  You 
have  matured  and  developed  the  plan  before  us,  but  we  had 
already  matured  and  developed  the  plan  long  before  you. 
You  intend  attacking  the  farmhouse  this  night  ?  We  claim 
priority  of  idea  and  execution,  and  consequently  the  right 
to  conduct  the  enterprise  without  let  or  hindrance. ' ' 

And,  parodying  the  classic  manner  in  which  Procope 
had  finished  his  discourse,  "Dixi!"  added  Pilletrousse, 
with  not  less  coolness  and  emphasis  than  the  legist. 

"But,"  asked  Procope,  a  little  disturbed  by  the  argu- 
ment of  Pilletrousse,  "how  do  I  know  you  are  speaking  the 

"My  word  as  a  gentleman!"  said  Pilletrousse. 

"I  would  rather  prefer  another  security." 

"On  the  faith  of  a  freebooter,  then!" 

"Hem!"  muttered  Procope,  imprudently. 

The  temper  of  the  community  was  growing  warm;  the 
doubt  expressed  by  Procope  as  to  the  value  of  Pilletrousse 's 
word  exasperated  his  followers. 

"Well,  then,  a  fight  be  it!"  cried  Fracasso  and  Lactance 

"Yes,  a  fight!  a  fight!  a  fight!"  howled  Malemort. 

"Fight  away,  then !  since  you  will  have  it, "  said  Procope. 

* '  A  fight  by  all  means !  since  there  is  no  other  way  out 
of  it, ' '  said  Maldent. 


" A  fight!"  repeated  Franz  and  Heinrich  Scharfenstein, 
drawing  their  swords. 

And  then,  as  everybody  appeared  agreed,  there  was  a 
general  drawing  of  swords  or  daggers,  or  else  a  seizure  of 
axe  or  club ;  each  looked  his  enemy  square  in  the  face,  and 
with  curses  on  the  lips,  fury  in  the  eyes,  and  death  in  the 
hands,  prepared  to  rush  on  him. 

Suddenly  the  pile  of  fern  heaped  up  in  the  recess  near 
the  entrance  of  the  grotto  was  seen  to  move ;  a  young  man 
elegantly  clad  darted  out,  and  with  a  bound  beyond  the 
circle  of  darkness,  appeared  in  the  circle  of  illumination, 
extending  his  arms  like  Hersilia  in  the  picture  of  the 
"Sabines, "  and  crying — 

"Down  with  your  arms,  comrades!  I  undertake  to  ar- 
range this  matter  to  the  general  satisfaction. ' ' 

All  eyes  were  turned  on  the  new  personage  who  entered 
on  the  scene  in  so  abrupt  and  unexpected  a  fashion,  and  all 
cried  in  unison — 


"But  where  the  devil  have  you  come  from?"  asked 
Pilletrousse  and  Procope  at  the  same  time. 

"You  are  about  to  learn, "  said  Yvonnet;  "but  first  re- 
turn swords  and  daggers  to  the  scabbards.  The  sight  of  all 
these  naked  blades  sets  every  one  of  my  nerves  quivering 

All  the  adventurers  obeyed  except  Malemort. 

"Come,  come,  comrade,"  said  Yvonnet,  addressing  him 
directly,  "what  is  the  meaning  of  that?" 

"Ah!"  sighed  Malemort,  as  if  his  heart  were  broken, 
"are  we  never  then  to  .have  a  little  quiet  cutting  and 

And  he  sheathed  his  sword  with  a  gesture  full  of  vexa- 
tion and  disappointment. 




YVONNET  cast  a  look  around  him,  and,  recognizing 
that,  if  anger  was  not  entirely  banished  from  the 
hearts  of  our  adventurers,  at  least  swords  and  dag- 
gers were  returned  to  their  scabbards,  he  turned  alternately 
to  Pilletrousse  and  Procope,  who,  as  they  remind  him,  have 
just  had  the  honor  of  putting  him  the  same  question. 

"Where  have  I  come  from?"  he  repeated.  ilPardieuf 
a  nice  question  that !  I  have  come  from  that  heap  of  fern, 
under  which  I  threw  myself  when  I  saw  Pilletrousse,  Lac- 
tance,  Malemort,  and  Fracasso  enter,  and  from  which  I 
thought  it  time  to  get  out  when  I  saw  them  followed  by 
Procope,  Maldent,  and  the  two  Scharf ensteins. ' ' 

"But  what  were  you  doing  in  the  grotto  at  such  an  hour 
of  the  'night  ?  for  when  we  came  here  it  was  yet  hardly 

"Ah!"  replied  Yvonnet,  "that's  my  secret,  which  I  will 
tell  you  immediately,  if  you  are  very  good;  but,  first,  let 
us  come  to  the  main  point. ' ' 

Then,  addressing  Pilletrousse — 

"So,  then,  my  dear  Pilletrousse,"  said  he,  "it  was  your 
intention  to  pay  a  little  visit  to  the  Chateau  du  Parcq,  as 
you  are  pleased  to  call  it?" 

"Yes,"  said  Pilletrousse. 

"And  yours,  too?"  asked  Yvonnet  of  Procope. 

' '  And  ours,  too, ' '  replied  Procope. 

"And  you  were  about  fighting  to  settle  the  priority  of 
your  rights?" 

"We  were  about  fighting,"  replied  Pilletrousse  and 
Procope  together. 


"Shame!"  exclaimed  Yvonnet;  "comrades,  Frenchmen, 
or,  at  least,  serving  the  cause  of  France!" 

"Faith,  we  couldn't  help  it,  as  these  gentlemen  refused 
to  renounce  their  claim, ' '  said  Procope. 

"We  could  not  act  otherwise,  since  these  gentlemen 
refused  to  give  way,"  said  Pilletrousse. 

"We  couldn't  help  it!  we  could  not  act  otherwise!"  re- 
peated Yvonnet,  mimicking  the  voice  of  the  two  disputants. 
"You  could  not  help  massacring  each  other;  you  could  not 
act  otherwise  than  cutting  each  other's  throats,  eh  ?  And 
you  were  there,  Lactance,  and  you  saw  the  preparations 
for  the  slaughter,  and  your  Christian  soul  did  not  utter  a 
groan  ?" 

"Yes,  it  did,  and  a  heartfelt  groan  at  that!" 

"And  that  is  all  wherewith  your  holy  religion  inspires 
you — a  groan  ?" 

1 '  After  the  fight, ' '  returned  Lactance,  a  little  humiliated 
by  the  reproaches  of  Yvonnet,  the  justice  of  which  he  felt — 
"after  the  fight  I  would  have  prayed  for  the  dead." 

"What  a  benevolent  creature!" 

"What  would  you  have  had  me  do,  pray,  my  dear  Mon- 
sieur Yvonnet  ?' ' 

"Ah,  pardieu!  I  would  have  had  you  do  what  I  am 
doing — I  who  am  not  a  devotee,  nor  a  saint,  nor  a  swallower 
of  Pater  Nosters  like  you.  What  would  I  have  had  you  do  ? 
Throw  yourself  between  those  swords  and  blades,  inter  gla- 
dios  et  enses,  to  speak  after  the  manner  of  our  legist  Procope, 
and  say  to  your  misguided  brethren,  with  that  air  of  com- 
punction which  so  well  becomes  you,  the  words  I  am  about 
to  say  to  them  now :  '  Comrades,  when  there  is  enough  for 
four,  there  is  enough  for  eight;  if  the  first  job  does  not 
bring  in  all  we  expected,  we  shall  soon  have  another  on 
hand.  Men  are  born  to  aid  one  another  on  the  rough  path- 
ways of  life,  not  to  encumber  with  stumbling-blocks  the 
roads  that  are  hard  enough  to  make  one's  way  over  as  it  is. 
Instead  of  dividing,  let  us  unite.  What  four  cannot  at- 
tempt without  enormous  risks,  eight  can  achieve  without 


danger.  Let  us  keep  our  hatreds,  our  daggers  and  swords, 
for  our  enemies,  and  for  ourselves  let  kindly  words  and 
courteous  deeds  be  our  only  weapons.  God,  who  protects 
France  when  He  has  nothing  more  pressing  to  occupy  His 
time,  will  smile  on  our  fraternal  unity  and  give  it  a  fitting 
reward!'  This,  my  dear  Lactance,  is  what  you  ought  to 
have  said  and  what  you  have  not  said. ' ' 

" It  is  true, "  replied  Lactance,  smiting  his  breast;  "mea 
culpa  !  mea  culpa  f  mea  maxima  culpa  /" 

And,  extinguishing  the  torch,  he  fell  on  his  knees  and 
began  to  pray  with  fervor. 

"Well,  then,  I  have  said  it  in  your  place,"  continued 
Yvonnet,  "and  I  add,  The  divine  reward  which  Lactance 
would  have  promised,  I  bring,  comrades. ' ' 

"You,  Yvonnet?"  said  Procope,  with  an  air  of  doubt. 

"Yes,  I,  who  had  the  same  desire  as  you,  and  even 
before  you." 

"What!"  said  Pilletrousse,  "you,  too,  had  the  idea  of 
entering  the  chateau  we  all  have  our  eyes  on?" 

"Not  only  had  I  the  idea,"  returned  Yvonnet;  "but, 
more  than  that,  I  have  begun  to  execute  it. ' ' 

"Impossible!"  exclaimed  all  his  hearers,  lending  him, 
though,  a  closer  attention  than  ever. 

"Yes,  I  have  a  friend  in  the  place — a  charming  little 
soubrette,  named  Gertrude,"  he  added,  twirling  his  mus- 
tache, "who  for  my  sake  is  willing  to  deny  father,  mother, 
and  mistress ;  she  is  mine,  body  and  soul. ' ' 

Lactance  heaved  a  sigh. 

"And  you  say  you  have  been  in  the  chateau  ?" 

"I  left  it  this  night;  but  you  know  how  n.uch  I  dread  a 
walk  in  the  night,  particularly  alone.  Bather  than  spend 
three  leagues  in  reaching  Doullens,  or  six  leagues  in  reach- 
ing Abbeville  or  Montreuil-sur-Mer,  I  spent  a  quarter  of  a 
league  in  making  my  way  to  this  grotto,  with  which  I  was 
well  acquainted,  as  it  was  the  scene  of  my  first  assignation 
with  my  divinity.  I  made  acquaintance  with  the  bed  of  fern, 
and  had  fallen  asleep  there,  and  had  intended  to  acquaint 


the  first  of  you  I  met  with  my  plan,  when  Pilletrousse  ar- 
rived with  his  band,  and  then  Procope  with  his.  Each 
came  here  with  the  same  object.  And  this  would  have 
undoubtedly  led  to  a  tragedy,  did  I  not  judge  it  time  to 
interfere,  as  I  have  interfered.  Now  I  have  to  say  to  you: 
Instead  of  fighting,  become  partners.  Why  not  enter  the 
place  by  craft  instead  of  by  violence?  Would  you  not 
rather  have  the  doors  opened  for  you  than  broken  in  ?  In- 
stead of  having  to  rummage  for  gold  and  jewelry,  would 
you  not  prefer  to  have  them  put  into  your  hands  ?  Then, 
shake !  I'm  your  man !  And  to  show  how  disinterested  I 
am,  I  say,  let  us  share.  In  spite  of  the  service  I  am  render- 
ing you,  I  only  ask  an  equal  share.  If  any  one  has  any- 
thing to  say  against  this,  let  him  say  it;  I  am  willing  to 

A  thrill  of  admiration  ran  through  the  assembly.  Lac- 
tan  ce  forgot  to  pray  for  a  while,  and  ran  to  kiss  the  hem  of 
his  jerkin.  Pilletrousse,  Maldent  and  Fracasso  grasped  his 
hand.  The  two  Scharfensteins  almost  choked  him  with 
their  embraces.  Malemort  alone  growled  in  his  corner: 

"There  won't  be  a  single  thrust  or  parry.     Ah,  dame/11 

"Well,  now,"  -said  Yvonnet,  who  had  been  for  a  long 
time  looking  forward  to  just  such  an  association,  and  who, 
seeing  the  opportunity  within  his  reach,  had  no  notion  to 
let  it  slip — "well,  now,  don't  let  us  lose  a  moment!  Here 
we  are,  nine  blades  who  fear  neither  Grod  nor  the  devil — ' ' 

' ' Oh,  excuse  me, ' '  interrupted  Lactance ;  "we  fear 

"Oh,  yes,  of  course!  It's  a  way  we  have  of  speaking, 
Lactance;  I  meant  to  say,  Here  we  are,  nine  blades  come 
hither  by  chance — 

"By  Providence,  Yvonnet!"  interrupted  Lactance, 

"By  Providence,  granted.  By  good  luck,  we  have 
among  us  a  legist  Procope,  and,  by  more  good  luck,  he 
happens  to  have  a  pen  and  ink  at  his  girdle,  and,  I  am  quite 
sure,  also  a  stamp  of  our  good  King  Henry  II. — " 


"Yes,  faith,  I  have  one,"  replied  Procope;  "and,  as 
Yvonnet  says,  it's  luck." 

"Then  let  us  come  to  the  point.  Draw  up  a  deed  of 
partnership,  while  one  of  us,  stationed  in  the  forest,  and  at 
the  end  of  the  path  that  leads  to  the  grotto,  may  see  that  we 
are  not  disturbed. ' ' 

"I  will  be  the  sentinel,"  said  Malemort.  "I'll  see  to  it 
that  if  Englishmen,  Spaniards,  or  Germans  are  prowling 
about  the  forest,  they'll  soon  be  dead  men!" 

"But,  my  dear  Malemort,"  said  Yvonnet,  "that's  the 
very  thing  we  don't  want.  In  our  present  position — that  is 
to  say,  within  two  hundred  yards  of  the  camp  of  the  Em- 
peror Charles  V.,  with  a  man  whose  ear  is  so  finely  and 
accurately  trained  as  that  of  Monseigneur  Emmanuel  Phili- 
bert  of  Savoy — we  must  not  kill  all  that  we  should  like 
to  kill,  especially  as  we  can't  be  sure  always  of  killing 
the  right  person.  We  perhaps  only  wound  him;  and  the 
wounded  scream  like  the  eagles.  Everybody  hurries  to 
the  rescue  of  the  wounded;  and  if  this  wood  is  once  occu- 
pied, God  only  knows  what  will  become  of  us!  No,  my 
dear  Malemort,  you  must  stay  here,  and  one  of  the  two 
Scharfensteins  will  mount  guard.  Both -are  Germans.  If 
one  of  our  sentinels  is  discovered,  he  can  say  he  is  a  lans- 
quenet of  the  Duke  of  Aremberg  or  a  trooper  of  Count 
Wai  deck." 

"Better  of  Count  Waldeck, "  said  Heinrich  Scharf en- 

"This  colossus  is  full  of  intelligence,"  said  Yvonnet. 
"Yes,  my  worthy  fellow.  Better  of  Count  Waldeck,  be- 
cause Count  Waldeck  is  a  freebooter,  like  the  rest  of  us. 
That's  what  you  mean,  is  it  not?" 

"Ya;  I  mean  just  that." 

"And  is  there  anything  wonderful  in  a  freebooter  like 
him  lurking  in  this  wood?" 

' '  Nein ;  nothing  wonderful  at  all. ' ' 

' '  The  only  thing  of  importance  is,  that  whichever  of  the 
Scharfensteins  acts  as  sentinel  does  not  fall  into  the  hands 


of  the  Duke  of  Savoy ;  for  lie  has  little  respect  for  highway- 
men, and  gives  short  shrift  to  marauders!" 

"Yes,"  said  Heinrich;  "he  hanged  two  soldiers  yester- 

'  "Three!"  said  Franz. 

"Well,  which  of  you  is  willing  to  act  as  sentry  ?" 

"I,"  replied  uncle  and  nephew  together. 

"My  friends,"  replied  Yvonnet,  "such  devotion  is  appre- 
ciated by  your  comrades.  But  only  one  sentinel  is  needed. 
Draw  lots,  then ;  a  post  of  honor  remains  for  him  who  has 
to  remain  here. ' ' 

The  two  Scharfensteins  consulted  together  for  a  moment. 

"Franz  has  good  eyes  and  good  ears;  he  will  be  senti- 
nel," said  Heinrich. 

' '  Grood !  let  Franz  go  to  his  post,  then. ' ' 

Franz  left  the  grotto,  with  his  ordinary  tranquillity. 

4 '  You  understand,  Franz  ?  If  you  are  caught  by  others, 
it  doesn't  matter;  but  if  you  are  taken  by  the  Duke  of 
Savoy,  you  are  hanged!" 

"No  one  shall  catch  me;  make  your  mind  easy,"  said 
Franz,  tranquilly. 

And  he  left  the  grotto  to  take  the  post  assigned  him. 

"And  the  post  of  honor,"  asked  Heinrich — "where 
is  it?" 

Yvonnet  took  the  torch  from  the  hands  of  Maldent  and 
presented  it  to  Heinrich. 

"There  you  are!"  he  said;  "stand  quiet,  and  don't  stir 
for  your  life. ' ' 

"I  won't  stir,  you  may  be  sure,"  replied  Heinrich. 

Procope  sat  down,  took  m  his  paper  from  his  pocket,  and 
his  pen  and  ink-bottle  from  his  belt. 

We  have  seen  him  at  work  at  the  very  time  we  entered 
the  grotto  of  Saint- Pol- sur-Ternoise — a  spot  usually  so 
lonely,  but  now,  by  a  fortuitous  concurrence  of  circum- 
stances, so  strangely  tenanted  to-day. 

We  trust  we  have  made  our  readers  come  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  it  was  not  a  work  very  easily  managed  that  Pro- 


cope  was  devoting  himself  to  between  eleven  in  the  morning 
and  three  in  the  afternoon  of  this  5th  of  May,  1555. 

And  so,  just  as  in  a  bill  discussed  in  our  modern  par- 
liaments, every  one  brought  forward  his  amendments  and 
clauses,  and  so  forth. 

The  said  amendments  and  clauses  were  passed  by  a  ma- 
jority of  votes,  and,  it  must  be  said  to  the  honor  of  our  free- 
booters, with  a  justice,  decorum,  and  impartiality  not  often 
found  in  more  pretentious  assemblies. 

There  are  really  wrong-headed  people  who  maintain, 
shameless  calumniators  that  they  are,  that  a  code  of  law 
drawn  up  by  robbers  is  likely  to  be  more  thorough  and 
equitable  than  a  code  drawn  up  by  honest  men. 

We  pity  the  blindness  of  such  people,  just  as  we  pity  the 
blindness  of  Calvinists  and  Lutherans  for  their  errors,  and 
we  pray  to  Grod  to  pardon  both. 

Finally,  at  the  very  moment  when  the  watch  of  Yvonnet 
marked  a  quarter- past  three — watches  were  rare  at  the 
period,  but  our  dandy  adventurer  had  one — finally,  we  re- 
peat, at  a  quarter-past  three,  Procope  raised  his  head,  took 
his  pen  in  his  hand,  and  produced  his  paper.  Thereat,  feel- 
ing an  emotion  of  joy,  he  could  not  help  exclaiming — 

"Ah!  it's  done,   and  well  done — Exegi  monumentum  /" 

At  this  announcement,  Heinrich  Scharfenstein,  who  had 
been  holding  the  torch  for  three  hours  and  twenty  minutes, 
stretched  his  arm,  as  he  felt  rather  tired;  Yvonnet  inter- 
rupted his  oration;  Malemort  completed  the  bandaging  of 
his  wound;  Lactance  hurried  through  his  last  Ave\  Mai- 
dent  drew  himself  up  to  his  full  height,  his  hands  still 
resting  on  the  table;  Pilletrousse  sheathed  his  dagger,  now 
sharpened  to  his  satisfaction ;  and  Fracasso  awoke  from  his 
poetic  revery,  satisfied  with  having  captured  the  rhymes  he 
had  been  in  search  of  for  a  sonnet  during  the  past  month. 

All  approached  the  table,  with  the  exception  of  Franz, 
who,  leaving  to  his  uncle  the  discussion  of  their  common 
interests,  had  placed  himself,  or  rather  lain  down,  within 
twenty  yards  of  the  entrance  to  the  grotto,  with  the  deter- 


mined  resolution,  not  only  of  watching  over  his  companions, 
but  of  keeping  out  of  the  way  of  that  rough  justiciary,  Em- 
manuel Philibert  of  Savoy. 

' '  Gentlemen, ' '  said  Procope,  glancing  at  the  members  of 
the  circle  that  had  formed  around  him  with  as  much  regu- 
larity as  the  officer  is  accustomed  to  behold  when  he  calls 
his  soldiers  to  order — "gentlemen,  are  we  all  here?" 

' l  Yes, ' '  replied  the  adventurers  in  chorus. 

"Then  every  one  is  ready  to  hear  the  document  which 
we  ha  ye.  drawn  up  in  eighteen  articles,  severally  and  con- 
jointly, and  which  is  hereby  constituted  a  deed  of  partner- 
ship thereunto  founded  and  established." 

The  reply  was  affirmative  and  unanimous,  Heinrich 
Scharfenstein,  as  a  matter  of  course,  answering  for  himself 
and  his  nephew. 

' '  Then  listen, ' '  said  Procope. 

And,  after  coughing  and  spitting,  he  began : 

"We,  the  undersigned — " 

"Excuse  me,"  interrupted  Lactance;  "1  do  not  know 
how  to  sign. ' ' 

"Parbkuf"  said  Procope;  "as  if  it  mattered!  you  will 
make  a  cross. ' ' 

"Ah!"  murmured  Lactance,  "that  will  make  the  pledge 
only  the  more  sacred.  Continue,  my  brother. ' ' 

Procope  resumed — 

"We,  the  undersigned:    Jean  Chrysostome  Procope — " 

"You  haven't  a  low  opinion  of  yourself,"  said  Yvonnet; 
"you  don't  object  to  lead  oft'." 

"Somebody  had  to  be  first,"  returned  Procope,  inno- 

"Good!"  said  Maldent;  "continue." 

Procope  continued — 

"Jean  Chrysostome  Procope,  attorney -at- law,  admitted 
to  practice  at  the  bar  of  Caen,  as  also  before  the  court  of 
Rouen,  Cherbourg,  Yalognes — " 

"  Oorbleu  !  I  am  no  longer  surprised  at  the  business  tak- 
ing up  three  hours  and  a  half,  if  you  have  given  every  one 


all  his  titles  and  degrees.  What  does  surprise  me  is  that 
you  should  have  got  to  the  end  of  it  at  last. ' ' 

"No,"  said  Procope;  "I  have  comprised  you  all  under 
the  same  title.  But,  as  the  person  responsible  for  the  in- 
strument, I  judged  it  not  only  proper,  but  absolutely  neces- 
sary to  give  a  full  exposition  of  all  my  titles,  degrees,  and 
qualities. ' ' 

"Oh,  I  see!"  said  Pilletrousse. 

"Ah!  get  on,  will  you!"  growled  Malemort.  "We  shall 
never  get  to  the  end  if  every  fellow  interrupts  at  each  word. 
I  want  to  come  to  the  fighting — that's  what  I  want!" 

"Faith,"  said  Procope,  "I'm  not  the  one  that  interrupts, 
as  far  as  I  can  see. ' ' 

And  he  continued — 

"Jean  Chrysostome  Procope,  etc.,  Honore  Joseph  Mai- 
dent,  Victor  Felix  Yvonnet,  Cyrille  Nepomucene  Lactance, 
Cesar  Hanibal  Malemort,  Martin  Pilletrousse,  Vittorio  Al- 
bani  Fracasso,  and  Heinrich  and  Franz  Scharfenstein — all 
captains  in  the  service  of  King  Henry  II. — ' 

A  flattering  murmur  interrupted  Procope,  and  no  one 
any  longer  dreamed  of  interfering  with  the  titles  and  quali- 
ties he  had  given  himself,  for  each  was  busy  in  arranging  on 
his  person  a  scarf,  a  napkin,  a  handkerchief,  any  rag  that 
could  be  made  to  look  like  a  symbol  of  the  rank  in  the 
French  service  he  had  just  received. 

Procope  gave  time  for  the  murmurs  of  applause  to  cease, 
and  continued — 

' '  Have  hereunto  set  forth,  resolved,  and — ' ' 

"Excuse  me,"  said  Maldent;  "but  the  deed  is  null." 

"Null!     How?"  said  Procope. 

"You  forgot  only  one  thing  in  your  deed." 


"The  date." 

"The  date  is  at  the  end." 

"Oh,"  said  Maldent,  "that  is  another  thing;  still,  it 
would  have  been  better  if  you  had  put  it  at  the  begin- 


"The  beginning  or  the  end's  all  one,"  said  Procope. 
"The  Institutes  of  Justinian  say,  positively:  Omne  actum 
quo  tempore  scriptum  sit,  indicate;  sen  initio  sen  fine  ut  paci- 
scentibus  libuerit :  which  means:  'Every  deed  must  bear  its 
proper  date;  but  the  contracting  parties  are  at  liberty  to 
place  the  date  at  the  beginning  or  at  the  end  of  the  said 
deed.'  ' 

"What  hideous  gibberish  your  law  Latin  is!"  said  Fra- 
casso,  "and  how  far  removed  from  the  language  of  Virgil 
and  Horace!" 

And  he  began  to  scan  lovingly  those  verses  from  the 
third  Eclogue  of  Virgil — 

"Malo  me  Galatea  petit,  lasciva  puella, 
Et  fugit  ad  salices,  et  se  cupit  ante  videri." 

"Silence,  Fracasso!"  said  Procope. 

"Oh,  silence  as  much  as  you  like,"  replied  Fracasso. 
"But  it  is  not  the  less  true  that,  great  a  man  as  was  Jus- 
tinian the  First,  I  prefer  Homer  the  Second  to  him,  and  I 
would  rather  have  made  the  Bucolics,  the  Eclogues,  or  even 
the  ^Eneid,  than  the  Digest,  Pandects,  Institutes,  and  the 
whole  Corpus  juris  civilis." 

There  was  undoubtedly  going  to  be  a  dispute  between 
Fracasso  and  Procope  on  this  important  point — and  only 
God  knows  where  it  would  have  led  the  disputants ! — when 
a  kind  of  stifled  cry  was  heard  outside  the  grotto,  and  the 
attention  of  the  adventurers  was  drawn  to  the  direction 
whence  it  came. 

Soon  it  was  seen  that  the  light  of  day  was  intercepted  by 
some  opaque  body  which  interposed  between  the  artificial 
and  ephemeral  glow  of  the  torches  and  the  divine  and  inex- 
tinguishable ilium  inati'on  of  the  sun.  At  last,  a  being  whose 
species  it  was  impossible  to  discern,  so  indefinite  were  its 
lines  in  the  demi- obscurity  in  which  it  moved,  appeared, 
and  advanced  into  the  centre  of  the  circle,  all  making  way 
before  it. 

Then  only,  by  the  glare  of  the  torch  which  lighted  the 


distorted  group,  was  Franz  Scharfenstein  recognized,  hold- 
ing a  woman  in  his  arms,  with  his  huge  hand  pressed  against 
her  mouth,  and  doing  duty  as  a  sort  of  gag. 

Each  waited  for  the  explanation  of  this  new  incident. 

"Comrades,"  said  the  giant,  "here  is  a  little  woman  I 
found  prowling  about  the  grotto;  I  caught  her,  and  have 
brought  her  to  you.  What  is  to  be  done  with  her  ?" 

"PardieuJ"  said  Pilletrousse,  "release  her.  She  won't 
eat  the  whole  nine  of  us,  perhaps!" 

"Oh!  I'm  not  afraid  of  her  eating  the  whole  nine  of  us 
either,"  said  Franz,  with  his  enormous  laugh.  "Wouldn't 
I  like  to  have  the  eating  of  her  alone  by  myself,  though ! 
Ja  wohl!" 

And,  as  Pilletrousse  had  invited  him  to  do,  he  set  her 
in  the  middle  of  the  circle,  on  her  two  feet,  and  withdrew 
to  the  rear  quickly. 

The  woman,  who  was  young  and  pretty,  and  seemed,  by 
her  costume,  to  be  a  respectable  cook  in  some  well-to-do 
family,  gave  a  frightened  glance  around  her,  and  then  at 
each  individual,  as  if  to  take  stock  of  the  company  in  the 
centre  of  which  she  stood,  and  which  her  eyes  told  her,  at 
the  first  look,  seemed  rather  mixed. 

But  her  glance  did  not  take  in  the  whole  circle,  either; 
it  stopped  at  the  youngest  and  most  elegant  of  the  adven- 

"Oh,  Monsieur  Yvonnet, "  she  cried,  "in  the  name  of 
Heaven,  protect,  defend  me!"  And,  trembling,  she  ran 
and  threw  her  arms  round  the  neck  of  the  young  man. 

"Why!"  said  Yvonnet,  "it  is  Mademoiselle  Gertrude!" 

And,  pressing  the  young  girl  against  his  breast,  to  reas- 
sure her,  he  said,  "Pardieu!  gentlemen,  we  shall  now  have 
fresh  news  from  the  Chateau  du  Parcq;  for  this  fair  lady 
has  just  come  from  it. ' ' 

Now,  as  any  news  promised  by  Yvonnet  which  should 
come  through  the  mouth  of  Mademoiselle  Gertrude  inter- 
ested every  one  of  them  to  the  extremest  degree,  our  adven- 
turers at  once  abandoned,  for  the  time,  their  deed  of  part- 


nership,  and  thronged  round  the  two  young  persons,  waiting 
impatiently  until  the  emotion  to  which  Mademoiselle  Ger- 
trude was  a  prey  permitted  her  to  speak. 


THERE  was  silence  still  for  a  few  moments,  after  which 
Mademoiselle  Grertrude,  evidently  reassured  by  the 
consoling  words  which  Yvonnet  whispered  into  her 
ear,  at  last  began  her  story. 

But  as  this  story,  at  one  time  interrupted  by  her  own 
excitement,  at  another  by  the  interrogatories  put  to  her  by 
the  adventurers,  might  not  have,  for  our  readers,  the  limpid 
clearness  desirable,  we  shall,  with  their  kind  permission, 
substitute  our  prose  for  that  of  the  fair  narrator,  and,  grasp- 
ing the  entire  situation,  relate,  as  plainly  as  we  can,  the 
tragic  event  that  forced  the  young  girl  to  quit  the  Chateau 
du  Parcq,  and  led  her  into  the  midst  of  the  adventurers. 

Two  hours  after  the  departure  of  Yvonnet,  at  the  mo- 
ment when  Mademoiselle  Grertrude,  doubtless  a  little  fatigued 
after  her  nocturnal  conversation  with  the  handsome  Pari- 
sian, decided  at  last  to  leave  her  bed  and  go  down  to  her 
mistress,  who  was  for  the  third  time  calling  her,  a  young 
boy  named  Philippin,  the  son  of  the  farmer,  about  sixteen 
years  old,  entered  the  chamber  of  his  mistress,  quite  scared, 
and  announced  that  a  troop  of  forty  or  fifty  men,  belonging, 
he  thought  from  their  black  and  yellow  scarfs,  to  the  army 
of  the  Emperor  Charles  V. ,  was  riding  toward  the  chateau, 
after  making  his  father,  who  happened  to  be  working  in  the 
fields,  prisoner. 

Philippin,  who  was  working  himself  some  hundred  yards 
from  the  farmer,  had  seen  the  capture,  and  guessed  by  the 
gestures  of  the  soldiers  and  the  prisoner  that  they  were 
speaking  of  the  chateau.  Then  he  had  crept  along  until  he 


came  to  a  path,  which  he  saw  would  hide  him  from  the  view 
of  the  troopers,  and  ran  like  the  wind  to  give  his  mistress 
notice  of  what  was  passing,  and  time  to  adopt  the  proper 

The  chatelaine  rose,  went  to  the  window,  and,  in  fact, 
saw  that  the  troop  was  hardly  a  hundred  yards  from  the 
chateau.  It  consisted  of  about  fifty  men,  as  Philippin  had 
said,  and  appeared  to  be  commanded  by  three  leaders.  The 
farmer  was  walking  beside  one  of  them,  with  his  hands  tied 
behind  his  back.  The  officer  near  whom  he  walked  held 
the  end  of  the  cord,  undoubtedly  with  the  object  of  prevent- 
ing the  farmer  from  attempting  to  escape,  or,  if  he  should 
attempt,  bringing  him  to  a  halt  on  the  moment. 

This  sight  was  anything  but  reassuring.  However,  as 
the  horsemen,  who  were  hastening  to  visit  the  chateau, 
wore,  as  we  have  said,  the  scarf  of  the  Empire;  as  the  three 
leaders  who  rode  at  their  head  had  crowns  on  the  crests  of 
their  helmets  and  escutcheons  on  the  breastplates  of  their 
cuirasses ;  as  the  orders  of  Duke  Emmanuel  Philibert  with 
regard  to  pillaging  and  marauding  were  positive ;  as,  in  fine, 
there  was  no  way  of  escape,  especially  for  a  woman — the 
chatelaine  resolved  to  receive  the  arrivals  in  the  best  man- 
ner possible.  Consequently,  she  left  her  chamber,  and, 
descending  the  staircase,  went,  as  a  mark  of  honor  to  her 
visitors,  to  receive  them  on  the  first  step  of  the  perron. 

As  to  Mademoiselle  Gertrude,  her  terror  at  the  sight  of 
these  men  was  so  great  that,  instead  of  following  her  mis- 
tress, as  was  perhaps  her  duty,  she  threw  herself  on  Philip- 
pin,  begging  him  to  point  out  some  retreat  where  she  could 
hide  during  the  stay  of  the  soldiers  in  the  chateau,  and 
where  he,  Philippin,  could  come  from  time  to  time,  and 
give  her  intelligence  as  to  how  the  affairs  of  her  mistress 
were  going  on;  for  they  certainly  appeared  to  be  in  a  bad 
way  at  present. 

Although  Mademoiselle  Gertrude  had  been  a  little  rough 
with  Philippin  for  some  time,  and  the  latter,  who -had  vainly 
sought  for  the  cause  of  the  change,  had  promised  to  himself 


that,  should  she  ever  need  his  services,  he  would  be  in  no 
hurry  to  offer  them,  yet  was  Mademoiselle  Gertrude  so 
beautiful  in  her  terror,  so  seductive  in  her  attitude  of  en- 
treaty, that  Philippin  allowed  himself  to  relent,  and  led 
Mademoiselle  Gertrude  by  the  private  staircase  into  the 
yard,  and  from  the  yard  into  the  garden,  and  there  hid  her 
in  a  corner  of  the  cistern,  where  his  father  stored  his  gar- 
dening tools  usually. 

It  was  not  likely  that  soldiers  whose  evident  intention  it 
was  to  devote  their  attention  to  the  pantries  and  cellars  of 
the  chateau  would  search  for  her  in  a  place  where,  as  Philip- 
pin  wittily  said,  there  was  nothing  to  drink  but  water. 

Mademoiselle  Gertrude  would  have  liked  to  keep  Philip- 
pin,  and  Philippin,  perhaps,  on  his  side,  would  have  asked 
nothing  better  than  to  remain  with  Mademoiselle  Gertrude ; 
but  the  beautiful  child  was  even  more  curious  than  timid, 
so  that  her  desire  for  news  got  the  better  of  her  dread  of 
remaining  alone. 

For  more  security,  moreover,  Philippin  put  the  key  of 
the  cistern  in  his  pocket,  which  at  first  disturbed  Mademoi- 
selle Gertrude  somewhat,  but,  after  due  reflection,  seemed, 
on  the  contrary,  rather  reassuring. 

Mademoiselle  Gertrude  held  her  breath  and  listened  with 
both  her  ears;  she  heard  at  first  a  great  noise  of  arms  and 
horses,  shouting  and  neighing;  but,  as  Philippin  had  fore- 
seen, the  shouting  and  neighing  seemed  to  be  concentrated 
in  the  chateau  and  its  courts. 

The  prisoner  was  trembling  with  impatience  and  burning 
with  curiosity.  She  had  been  at  the  door  more  than  once, 
and  tried  to  open  it.  If  she  had  succeeded,  she  would  very 
certainly,  although  at  the  risk  of  encountering  some  un- 
pleasant mishap  in  the  enterprise,  have  tried  to  hear  what 
was  saying  or  see  what  was  doing  by  listening  at  the  doors 
and  looking  above  the  walls. 

At  last  a  step,  as  light  as  that  of  nocturnal  animals  prow- 
ling around  poultry-yards  and  sheep-folds,  drew  near  the 
cistern ;  a  key  was  introduced  cautiously,  turned  gently  in 


the  lock,  and  the  door,  slowly  opened,  was  quickly  shut 
after  giving  entrance  to  Master  Philippin. 

"Well?"  asked  Gertrude,  before  even  the  door  was 

"Well,  Mademoiselle  Gertrude,"  said  Philippin,  "it 
seems  they  are,  in  fact,  gentlemen,  just  as  Madame  la 
JBaronne  had  surmised.  But  what  gentlemen,  good  God! 
If  you  heard  them  curse  and  swear  you  would  take  them  for 
genuine  pagans!" 

"Great  heavens!  what  is  that  you're  telling  me,  Mon- 
sieur Philippin?"  -exclaimed  the  young  girl,  no,w  quite 

"The  truth,  mademoiselle;  nothing  but  God's  pure 
truth!  When  the  chaplain  reprimanded  them,  they  an- 
swered that  if  he  did  not  keep  a  quiet  tongue  in  his  mouth 
they  would  make  him  sing  Mass  with  his  feet  up  and  his 
head  down,  and  the  rope  of  the  belfry  about  his  neck ;  while 
their  chaplain,  a  regular  heathen  with  beard  and  mustaches, 
would  read  a  service  in  which  there  were  neither  responses 
nor  questions. ' ' 

uBut,  then,"  said  Mademoiselle  Gertrude,  "they  are  not 
real  gentlemen,  are  they  ?" 

"Pardieuf  they  are;  and  among  the  best  in  Germany, 
even!  They  were  not  ashamed  to  tell  their  names;  and 
that,  you  must  acknowledge,  was  no  small  bravado,  after 
the  way  they  conducted  themselves.  The  oldest,  a  man  of 
fifty,  or  thereabout,  is  named  Count  Waldeck,  and  com- 
mands four  thousand  reiters  in  the  army  of  his  Majesty 
Charles  Y.  The  two  others,  who  may  be  from  twenty-four 
to  twenty -five,  and  from  nineteen  to  twenty,  are  his  legiti- 
mate son  and  his  bastard.  Only,  from  what  I  have  seen — 
and  the  thing  is  not  unusual — he  appears  to  be  fonder  of 
the  bastard  than  of  the  lawful  heir.  The  legitimate  son  is 
a  handsome  young  man,  with  pale  complexion,  large  brown 
eyes,  black  hair  and  mustaches,  and  I  have  a  fancy  he  might 
be  brought  to  listen  to  reason.  The  same  can't  be  said  of 
the  bastard,  who  is  red- headed,  and  has  the  eyes  of  an  owl. 


Oh,  mademoiselle,  he's  a  regular  devil,  that  fellow!  God 
preserve  you  from  meeting  him!  The  way  he  looked  at 
Madame  la  Baronne! — It  makes  one  shiver  to  think  of  it!" 

"You  don't  say  so?"  said  Mademoiselle  Gertrude,  who 
was  evidently  curious  to  know  what  kind  of  a  look  is  that 
which  makes  one  shiver. 

' '  Oh,  good  God,  yes, ' '  said  Philippin,  by  way  of  perora- 
tion ;  ' '  and  it  was  thus  I  left  them —  Now  I  am  going  back 
for  further  news,  and  as  soon  as  I  have  any,  I'll  let  you 
know. ' ' 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Gertrude,  "go!  and  return  soon;  but 
take  care  that  nothing  happens  to  you. ' ' 

"Oh,  don't  be  afraid,  mademoiselle,"  replied  Philippin; 
"I  never  show  myself  except  with  a  bottle  in  each  hand; 
and,  as  I  know  where  to  find  the  best  wine,  the  rascals  have 
the  greatest  respect  for  me. ' ' 

Philippin  left,  and  shut  up  Mademoiselle  Gertrude,  who 
at  once  began  to  think  within  herself  what  kind  of  looks 
those  are  that  make  one  shiver.  She  had  not  yet  solved  the 
difficulty,  although  she  spent  nearly  an  hour  in  trying,  when 
the  key  turned  anew  in  the  lock,  and  the  messenger  reap- 

It  was  not  that  of  the  ark,  and  he  was  far  from  holding 
an  olive  branch  in  his  hand.  Count  Waldeck  had,  by 
threats  and  even  ill-treatment,  forced  the  baroness  to  sur- 
render her  jewels,  plate,  and  all  the  gold  she  had  in  the 
chateau.  But  this  had  not  satisfied  them;  and,  after  the 
first  ransom  had  been  paid,  the  poor  woman,  at  the  very 
moment  she  believed  herself  about  to  be  rid  of  the  noble 
bandits  who  had  asked  her  hospitality,  had  been,  on  the 
contrary,  seized,  garroted,  and  locked  up  in  her  chamber, 
with  the  assurance  that  if  in  two  hours  she  did  not  find  two 
hundred  rose  nobles  in  her  own  purse  or  in  that  of  her 
friends,  the  chateau  would  be  set  on  fire. 

Mademoiselle  Gertrude  bewailed,  according  to  all  the 
rules  of  propriety,  the  fate  of  her  mistress ;  but,  as  she  had 
not  two  hundred  crowns  to  lend  her,  and  thus  extricate  her 


from  her  embarrassment,  she  tried  to  think  of  something 
else,  and  asked  Philippin  what  that  infamous  bastard  of 
Waldeck,  of  the  red  hair  and  terrible  eyes,  was  doing  ? 

Philippin  replied  that  the  bastard  of  Waldeck  was  doing 
his  best  to  get  drunk — an  occupation  in  which  he  was  power- 
fully seconded  by  his  father.  The  Vicomte  Waldeck  alone 
was  preserving,  as  far  as  possible,  his  coolness  in  the  midst 
of  the  pillage  and  the  orgies. 

Mademoiselle  Gertrude  had  a  furious  craving  to  form 
some  idea  of  what  these  orgies  might  be,  and  to  see  them 
with  her  own  eyes.  As  to  pillage,  she  knew  that  already, 
having  been  present  at  the  sack  of  Therouanne,  but  of  what 
are  called  orgies  she  had  no  notion. 

Philippin  explained  that  it  was  a  meeting  of  men  who 
drank,  and  ate,  and  indulged  in  loose  conversation,  and 
committed  every  sort  of  outrage  on  any  woman  that  fell  into 
their  hands. 

The  curiosity  of  Mademoiselle  Gertrude  was  immensely 
increased  by  this  picture,  which  would  have  made  a  heart 
less  courageous  than  hers  shudder.  She  therefore  begged 
Philippin  to  let  her  out,  if  it  were  only  for  ten  minutes;  but 
he  repeated  to  her  so  often  and  so  seriously  that  by  leaving 
she  ran  a  risk  of  her  life,  that  she  decided  to  remain  in  her 
hiding-place,  and  await  the  third  return  of  Philippin,  before 
settling,  finally,  on  what  she  was  to  do. 

This  she  had  done  before  the  return  of  Philippin.  It 
was,  no  matter  what  might  happen,  to  force  a  passage  out, 
gain  the  chateau,  slip  along  the  secret  corridors  and  private 
staircases,  and  see  with  her  own  eyes  what  was  passing — 
any  narrative,  however  eloquent,  being  always  inferior  to 
the  scene  it  attempts  to  paint. 

As  soon  as  she  heard,  for  the  third  time,  the  key  turn  in 
the  lock,  she  prepared  to  dart  from  the  cistern,  whether 
Philippin  liked  it  or  not;  but  when  she  saw  his  face,  she 
recoiled  in  terror. 

Philippin  was  as  pale  as  a  corpse;  his  lips  stammered 
forth  disconnected  words,  and  his  eyes  had  the  haggard  ex- 


pression  of  a  man  who  has  just  witnessed  some  awful  and 
sombre  event. 

Gertrude  wished  to  question  him,  but  at  the  contact  of 
this  unknown  terror  she  felt  frozen;  the  paleness  of  his 
cheeks  passed  into  her  own,  and,  face  to  face  with  this  grew- 
some  dumbness,  she  became  dumb  herself. 

The  young  man,  without  saying  anything,  but  with  that 
strength  given  by  fright  which  is  irresistible,  seized  her  by 
the  wrist  and  dragged  her  toward  the  little  gate  of  the  gar- 
den opening  on  the  plain,  stammering  only  these  words — 

"Dead — assassinated — stabbed !" 

Gertrude  made  no  resistance;  Philippin  let  her  go  a  mo- 
ment to  shut  the  gate  behind  them — a  useless  precaution, 
for  no  one  dreamed  of  pursuing  them. 

But  the  shock  received  by  Philippin  had  been  so  rough 
that  the  momentum  impressed  on  him  could  not  cease  until 
his  strength  failed  him.  At  the  end  of  five  hundred  yards 
he  fell,  breathless,  murmuring,  in  a  hoarse  voice,  like  that 
of  a  man  in  the  last  agony,  those  frightful  words,  the  only 
ones  he  could  utter — 

' '  Dead — assassinated — stabbed !" 

Then  Gertrude  cast  her  eyes  around  her:  she  was  not 
more  than  two  hundred  yards  from  the  border  of  the  forest ; 
she  knew  the  forest,  she  knew  the  grotto ;  it  was  doubly  a 
refuge;  besides,  in  the  grotto  she  might  perhaps  find 

She  was  quite  remorseful  at  the  notion  of  leaving  poor 
Philippin  unconscious  on  the  edge  of  a  ditch;  but  she  per- 
ceived four  or  five  horsemen  coming  in  her  direction.  Per- 
haps these  men  might  be  some  of  Count  Waldeck's  reiters; 
she  had  not  a  second  to  lose  if  she  wanted  to  escape.  She 
darted  toward  the  forest,  and,  without  looking  behind  her, 
ran,  frantic  and  dishevelled,  until  she  crossed  the  border  of 
the  wood.  Then  only  did  she  stop,  and,  leaning  against  a 
tree  so  as  not  to  fall,  she  cast  her  eyes  over  the  plain. 

The  horsemen  reached  the  place  where  she  had  left 
Philippin  unconscious.  They  raised  him  up;  but,  seeing 

(3)_Vol.  20 


that  lie  could  not  move  a  step,  one  of  them  laid  him  across 
the  pommel  of  his  saddle,  and,  followed  by  his  comrades, 
transported  him  to  the  camp. 

The  intentions  of  these  men,  however,  seemed  to  be 
good;  and  Gertrude  began  to  think  that  the  best  thing  for 
Philippin  was  to  fall  into  such  humane  hands. 

Then,  no  longer  anxious  for  the  fate  of  her  companion, 
and  having  regained  her  breath  in  this  halt,  Gertrude  began 
again  to  run  in  the  direction,  or  rather  toward  the  point  she 
believed  in  the  direction,  of  the  grotto.  She  naturally  went 
astray ;  and  it  was  only  at  the  end  of  an  hour  that  she  found 
herself,  by  accident,  chance,  or  instinct,  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  the  grotto,  and  within  reach  of  Franz  Scharfenstein. 

It  is  easy  to  guess  the  rest:  Franz  stretched  out  one  hand 
and  encircled  the  waist  of  Gertrude,  placed  the  other  on  her 
mouth,  and  carried  her  as  if  she  was  a  feather,  then  set 
her  in  the  midst  of  the  adventurers  in  an  altogether  scared 
condition,  until,  reassured  by  the  sympathetic  words  of 
YVonnet,  she  was  able  to  begin  the  tale  we  have  just  told, 
and  which  was  received  with  a  general  cry  of  indignation 
by  the  adventurers. 

But,  let  not  the  reader  be  deceived,  this  indignation 
sprang  from  an  entirely  selfish  cause.  The  adventurers 
were  not  indignant  at  the  little  morality  displayed  by  the 
marauders  in  connection  with  the  Chateau  du  Parcq  and  its 
inhabitants.  No;  they  were  indignant  at  Count  Waldeck 
and  his  sons  having  pillaged  in  the  morning  a  chateau 
which  they  had  reckoned  on  pillaging  in  the  evening. 

This  indignation  was  succeeded  by  a  general  hubbub, 
which,  in  turn,  was  followed  by  a  resolution,  adopted  unani- 
mously, to  go  into  the  open  and  see  at  once  what  was  pass- 
ing in  the  direction  of  the  camp,  whither  Philippin  had  been 
transported,  and  in  the  direction  of  the  chateau,  where  had 
been  accomplished  the  drama  just  related  by  Gertrude  with 
all  the  eloquence  and  all  the  energy  of  terror. 

But  the  indignation  of  the  adventurers  did  not  exclude 
prudence.  It  was  then  decided  that  a  man  of  goodwill 


should  begin  by  exploring  the  wood,  and  render  an  ac- 
count of  the  present  condition  of  things  to  the  adventur- 
ers. Their  action  would  depend  on  the  motives  for  fear  or 
security  supplied  by  this  exploration. 

Yvonnet  offered  to  beat  the  wood.  He  was,  besides,  the 
very  man  for  the  work:  he  knew  all  the  turnings  and  twist- 
ings  of  the  forest;  he  was  as  agile  as  a  stag  and  cunning  as 
a  fox. 

Gertrude  broke  into  loud  cries,  and  tried  to  prevent  her 
lover  going  on  a  dangerous  mission.  But  she  was  made  to 
understand,  without  much  ceremony,  that  the  moment  was 
badly  chosen  for  the  display  of  her  amorous  susceptibilities, 
which  were  likely  to  be  anything  but  favorably  appreciated 
by  the  rather  practical  people  among  whom  she  found 
herself.  She  was  a  sensible  girl  at  bottom;  she  grew  calm 
when  she  saw  that  her  cries  and  tears  would  not  only  have 
no  result,  but  might  even  turn  out  badly  for  her.  Besides, 
Yvonnet  explained  to  her,  in  a  low  voice,  that  an  adven- 
turer's mistress  ought  not  to  affect  the  nervous  sensibility 
of  a  princess  of  romance,  and,  having  placed  her  in  the 
hands  of  his  friend  Fracasso  and  under  the  special  guard 
of  the  two  Scharfensteins,  he  quitted  the  grotto  to  accom- 
plish the  important  mission  which  he  had  just  undertaken. 

Ten  minutes  after,  he  was  back.  The  forest  was  per- 
fectly deserted,  and  did  not  appear  to  offer  any  danger. 

As  the  curiosity  of  the  adventurers  was  almost  as  keenly 
aroused  in  their  grotto  by  the  story  of  Mademoiselle  Ger- 
trude as  the  curiosity  of  Mademoiselle  Gertrude  had  been 
excited  in  her  cistern  by  the  "story  of  Philippin,  and  as  old 
freebooters  of  their  stamp  could  not  have  the  same  motives 
of  prudence  as  those  that  direct  the  actions  of  a  beautiful 
and  timid  young  girl,  they  left  the  cavern,  abandoning 
Procope's  deed  of  partnership  to  the  guardianship  of  the 
genii  of  the  place,  invited  Yvonnet  to  place  himself  at  their 
head,  and,  guided  by  him,  they  directed  their  course  toward 
the  border  of  the  wood,  not  without  each  making  sure  that 
his  dagger  or  sword  had  not  rusted  in  the  scabbard. 




ACCOEDING  as  our  adventurers  advanced  toward  that 
point  of  the  forest  which  we  have  said  stretched 
out  in  the  form  of  a  lance-head  in  the  direction  of 
Hesdin,  stopping  within  a  quarter  of  a  league  of  it,  and 
separating  the  two  basins  of  the  plain  already  known  to  our 
readers,  a  thick  copse  succeeded  the  larger  trees,  and  by  the 
closeness  of  the  trunks  and  the  interlacing  of  the  branches 
afforded  still  greater  security  to  such  as  took  advantage  of 
its  shade.  It  was,  then,  without  being  seen  by  any  living 
soul  that  the  little  band  made  its  way  to  the  outskirts 
of  the  forest. 

Nearly  fifteen  yards  from  the  ditch  that  separated  the 
forest  from  the  plain — a  ditch  which  ran  along  the  road 
brought  to  the  notice  of  our  readers  in  the  first  chapter  of 
this  work  and  forming  a  means  of  communication  between 
the  Chateau  du  Parcq,  the  camp  of  the  emperor,  and  the 
neighboring  villages — our  adventurers  halted. 

The  spot  was  well  selected  for  such  a  purpose;  a  huge 
oak,  remaining  with  a  few  other  trees  of  the  same  height 
and  the  same  size,  to  indicate  the  sort  of  giants  that  had 
formerly  fallen  under  the  axe,  spread  its  dome  of  foliage 
above  their  heads,  while,  by  advancing  a  few  steps  forward, 
they  could  take  in  at  a  glance  the  whole  plain,  unseen 

All  raised  their  eyes  at  the  same  time  to  the  leafy  crown 
of  the  venerable  tree.  Yvonnet  understood  what  was  ex- 
pected of  him;  he  nodded  consent  and  borrowed  Fracasso's 
tablets,  containing  one  last,  immaculate  leaf,  which  the  poet 


showed  him,  at  the  same  time  recommending  him  to  respect 
the  others,  the  depositaries  of  his  romantic  reveries.  He. 
planted  one  of  the  two  Scharfensteins  against  the  gnarled 
trunk,  not  to  be  embraced,  even  by  that  giant's  arms,  placed 
a  foot  on  each  of  the  German's  hands,  climbed  to  his  shoul- 
ders, from  his  shoulders  to  the  branches,  and  was  soon 
seated  astride,  on  a  stout  bough,  with  as  much  ease  and 
security  as  is  a  sailor  on  the  yard  of  the  maintop  or  jib- 

During  the  ascent,  Gertrude  followed  him  with  an  anx- 
ious eye ;  but  she  had  already  learned  to  restrain  her  fears 
and  repress  her  cries.  Besides,  on  seeing  the  carelessness 
with  which  her  lover  took  his  station  on  the  branch,  the 
readiness  with  which  he  turned  his  head  left  and  right,  she 
knew  that  he  was  at  least  in  no  danger  from  one  of  those 
fits  of  dizziness  to  which  he  was  liable  when  nobody  was 
looking  on. 

But  Yvonnet,  in  the  meanwhile,  with  one  hand  shading 
his  eyes,  was  looking  now  north,  now  south,  and  appearing 
to  divide  his  attention  between  two  spectacles  equally  inter- 

These  multiplied  motions  of  the  head  strongly  excited 
the  curiosity  of  the  adventurers,  who,  lost  in  the  depths  of 
the  coppice,  could  see  nothing  of  what  Yvonnet  was  seeing 
from  the  elevated  region  in  which  he  was  domiciled. 

Yvonnet  could  understand  their  impatience,  of  which 
they  gave  many  signs  by  throwing  back  their  heads,  ques- 
tioning him  by  a  look,  and  even  venturing  to  cry,  in  sup- 
pressed tones,  "What  is  happening?" 

And  among  those  who  questioned  by  voice  and  gesture 
we  may  be  sure  Mademoiselle  Gertrude  was  not  the  least 

Yvonnet  made  a  sign  with  his  hand,  which  meant  that 
if  they  waited  a  few  seconds  they  should  know  as  much  as 
he.  He  opened  the  tablets  of  Fracasso,  tore  out  the  last 
blank  page,  wrote  on  this  page  a  few  lines  in  pencil,  rolled 
the  paper  between  his  fingers,  in  order  that  the  wind  might 


not  bear  it  away,  and  dropped  it.  All  hands  were  stretched 
out  to  catch  it,  even  the  white  little  hands  of  Mademoiselle 
Gertrude;  but  it  was  between  the  huge  paws  of  Franz 
Scharfenstein  that  the  paper  fell. 

The  giant  laughed  at  his  good  luck,  and,  passing  the 
paper  to  his  neighbor,  said,  "Take  it,  Monsieur  Procope; 
I  don't  know  how  to  read  French." 

Procope,  not  less  curious  than  the  others  to  know  what 
was  passing,  unfolded  the  paper,  and  amid  general  silence 
read  the  following  lines: 

"The  Chateau  du  Parcq  is  on  fire. 

"Count  Waldeck,  his  two  sons,  and  forty  reiters  have 
appeared  in  the  plain  and  are  taking  the  direction  of  the 

"They  are  about  two  hundred  yards  from  the  point  of 
the  wood  in  which  we  are  hidden. 

"So  much  for  my  right. 

"Now  another  little  troop  is  following  the  road  from 
the  camp  to  the  chateau. 

"It  consists  of  seven  men,  a  leader,  squire,  page,  and 
four  soldiers. 

' '  As  well  as  I  can  judge  from  here,  the  leader  is  Duke 
Emmanuel  Philibert. 

"His  troop  is  nearly  at  the  same  distance  on  our  left  that 
Waldeck 's  is  on  our  right. 

"If  the  two  troops  march  at  the  same  speed,  they  ought 
to  meet  at  the  point  of  the  wood  and  find  themselves  face  to 
face  at  the  moment  they  least  expect  it. 

1 '  If  Duke  Emmanuel  has  been  informed  by  M.  Philippin, 
as  seems  probable,  of  what  occurred  at  the  chateau,  we  are 
about  to  see  something  curious. 

"Attention,  comrades;  it  is  the  duke,  beyond  doubt." 

Here  the  note  of  Yvonnet  ended.  It  was  impossible  to 
say  more  things  in  fewer  words,  and  to  promise  with  more 
simplicity  a  spectacle  which,  in  truth,  was  likely  to  be  very 
curious,  if  the  adventurer  was  not  mistaken  on  the  identity 
and  intentions  of  the  parties. 

Naturally,  therefore,  the  several  companions  drew  near 
the  outskirts  of  the  wood  with  all  sorts  of  precautions,  in 


order  to  witness  with  the  greatest  possible  comfort  and  the 
least  possible  danger  the  spectacle  promised  by  Yvonnet,  and 
for  observing  which  chance  had  given  him  the  best  place. 

If  the  reader  will  follow  the  example  of  our  adventurers, 
we  shall  not  trouble  ourselves  about  Count  Waldeck  and 
his  sons,  whose  acquaintance  we  have  made  already  through 
the  medium  of  Mademoiselle  Gertrude,  and,  stealing  across 
the  left  border  of  the  wood,  we,  too,  shall  put  ourselves 
in  communication  with  the  new  personage  announced  by 
Yvonnet,  who,  indeed,  is  no  less  a  personage  than  the  hero 
of  our  story. 

Yvonnet  was  not  mistaken.  The  leader,  advancing  be- 
tween his  squire  and  page,  and  preceding  a  little  troop 
of  four  men-at-arms,  as  if  there  was  only  question  of  an 
ordinary  patrol,  was  really  Duke  Emmanuel  Philibert, 
generalissimo  of  the  forces  of  the  Emperor  Charles  Y.  in 
the  Low  Countries. 

He  was  the  more  easily  recognized  because,  instead  of 
wearing  his  helmet  on  his  head,  it  hung  on  the  left  side 
of  his  saddle,  its  constant  position,  in  rain  and  sun,  and 
even  sometimes  in  battle;  from  whence  it  was  said  his  sol- 
diers, seeing  his  insensibility  to  cold  and  heat  and  blows, 
gave  him  the  name  of  T&te  de  Per. 

He  was  at  the  present  time  a  handsome  young  man  of 
twenty- seven,  of  middle  height,  but  vigorously  built,  with 
hair  cut  very  short,  very  clearly  marked  brown  eyebrows, 
keen  blue  eyes,  and  straight  nose.  He  had  a  heavy  mus- 
tache, and  a  beard  trimmed  to  a  point;  in  fine,  his  neck 
seemed  pressed  down  on  his  shoulders,  as  happens  almost 
always  in  the  case  of  the  descendants  of  those  warlike  races 
whose  ancestors  have  worn  the  helmet  for  many  generations. 

When  he  spoke,  his  voice  had  at  once  infinite  sweetness 
and  remarkable  firmness.  A  strange  characteristic  of  it  was 
that  it  could  ascend  to  the  expression  of  the  most  violent 
menace  without  rising  more  than  one  or  two  tones;  the  as- 
cendant gamut  of  anger  was  concealed  in  the  almost  imper- 
ceptible gradations  of  the  accent. 


As  a  result,  only  his  most  intimate  friends  knew  what 
perils  awaited  those  imprudent  enough  to  arouse  and  brave 
his  anger — an  anger  so  carefully  restrained  that  its  strength 
could  only  be  understood,  and  its  extent  measured,  at  the 
moment  when,  preceded  by  the  lightning  of  his  eyes,  it 
burst  forth,  thundered,  and  pulverized  like  a  bolt  from 
heaven.  Then,  the  thunderbolt  once  fallen,  the  storm  at 
once  ceases,  and  the  weather  is  again  serene;  the  explosion 
over,  the  physiognomy  of  the  duke  recovered  its  habitual 
serenity  and  calm:  his  eyes  their  look  of  placidity  and 
strength;  his  mouth  its  benevolent  and  royal  smile. 

As  to  the  squire,  riding  at  his  right,  with  his  visor  up, 
he  was  a  fair  young  man  of  nearly  the  same  age  and  of 
exactly  the  same  build  as  the  duke.  His  clear  blue  eyes, 
full  of  boldness  and  energy,  his  beard  and  mustaches,  fair, 
but  with  a  warmer  tint  than  that  of  his  hair,  his  nose,  with 
the  nostrils  dilated  like  those  of  a  lion,  his  lips,  whose 
plumpness  and  ruddiness  the  mustaches  could  not  hide, 
his  complexion,  rich  with  the  double  coloring  of  health  and 
exercise — all  indicated  the  possession  of  the  very  highest 
degree  of  physical  strength.  At  his  back — not  girt  to  his 
side — hung  one  of  those  terrible  two-handed  swords  of 
which  Frangois  I.  broke  three  at  the  battle  of  Marignano, 
and  which,  from  their  length,  could  only  be  drawn  from 
over  the  shoulder,  while  at  the  saddle-bow  was  one  of  those 
battle-axes  that  had  a  blade  on  one  side,  was  a  club  on  the 
other,  and  had  a  lance -head  at  the  end,  so  that  it  could, 
when  occasion  required,  be  used  as  a  hammer  to  knock 
a  man  down,  an  axe  to  cleave  him  in  two,  and  a  poniard 
to  stab  him. 

On  the  left  of  the  duke  was  the  page,  a  handsome  lad  of 
from  sixteen  to  perhaps,  though  scarcely,  eighteen,  with 
blue-black  hair,  cut  after  the  German  fashion,  as  it  is  worn  in 
Holbein's  knights  and  Eaphael's  angels.  His  eyes,  shaded 
by  long  velvety  lashes,  were  endowed  with  that  elusive 
shade  which  floats  between  chestnut  and  violet,  and  is  only 
met  in  Arab  or  Sicilian  eyes.  His  olive  complexion,  of  that 


fine  olive  peculiar  to  the  northern  countries  of  the  Italian 
peninsula,  resembled  Carrara  marble,  whose  paleness  had 
been  longingly  and  amorously  absorbed  by  a  Roman  sun. 
His  hands,  small,  white,  and  tapering,  managed,  with  won- 
derful skill,  a  little  Tunis  horse  whose  sole  saddle  was  a 
leopard's  skin,  with  eyes  of  enamel,  teeth  and  claws  of  gold, 
a  slender  silken  cord  serving  for  bridle.  As  to  his  dress,  at 
once  simple  and  full  of  elegance,  it  was  composed  of  a 
doublet  of  black  velvet,  opening  on  a  cherry -colored  vest 
with  white  satin  facings,  and  drawn  in  at  the  bottom  by 
a  gold  cord  supporting  a  dagger,  the  handle  of  which  was  a 
single  agate.  His  feet,  beautifully  modelled,  were  shod  with 
morocco  boots,  and  came  up  above  the  knee,  the  hose  of  the 
same  material  and  color  as  the  doublet. 

In  fine,  his  forehead  was  covered  by  a  cap  of  the  same 
stuff  and  color  as  the  entire  exterior  part  of  his  clothing. 
A  diamond  agrafe  held  in  front  a  cherry -colored  plume 
which  rolled  around  it,  floating  at  the  least  breath  of  air, 
and  falling  gracefully  between  his  shoulders. 

And  now  that  we  have  introduced  our  new  characters, 
we  shall  return  to  the  action,  which,  interrupted  for  a  mo- 
ment, is  about  to  unfold  itself  with  still  more  vigor  and 
firmness  than  before. 

In  fact,  during  this  description,  Duke  Emmanuel  Phili- 
bert,  his  two  companions,  and  the  four  men  of  his  suite 
were  proceeding  on  their  way,  without  hurrying  or  slacken- 
ing their  horses'  steps.  Only,  when  they  approached  the 
point  of  the  wood,  the  face  of  the  duke  grew  more  sombre, 
as  if  he  had  a  presentiment  that  some  spectacle  of  desola- 
tion would  meet  his  eyes,  once  that  point  was  passed.  But 
suddenly,  on  arriving  simultaneously  at  the  extremity  of 
the  angle,  as  had  foreseen  Yvonnet,  the  two  troops  found 
themselves  face  to  face,  and,  strange  to  say!  it  was  the 
stronger  of  the  two  that  stopped,  nailed  to  the  spot  by 
a  feeling  of  surprise,  with  which  a  little  fear  was  obviously 

Emmanuel  Philibert,  on  the  contrary,  without  indicating 


by  a  start,  by  a  gesture,  by  a  motion  of  his  countenance, 
the  feeling,  whatever  it  might  be,  which  agitated  him, 
continued  his  course,  riding  straight  up  to  Count  Waldeck, 
who  awaited  him,  placed  between  his  two  sons. 

At  ten  paces  from  the  count,  Emmanuel  made  a  sign 
to  his  squire,  his  page,  and  four  soldiers,  who  halted  with 
a  regularity  and  obedience  quite  military,  and  allowed  him 
to  go  on  alone. 

When  he  was  just  within  reach  of  Vicomte  Waldeck, 
who  happened  to  be  stationed  as  a  rampart  between  him 
and  his  father,  the  duke  halted  in  turn. 

The  three  gentlemen  saluted  by  raising  their  hands  to 
their  helmets;  but  in  raising  his,  the  bastard  of  Waldeck 
lowered  his  visor,  as  if  to  be  ready  for  any  eventuality. 

The  duke  replied  to  the  triple  salutation  by  an  inclina- 
tion of  his  bare  head. 

Then,  addressing  Vicomte  Waldeck  in  that  dulcet  voice 
that  made  a  harmony  of  his  words — 

"Vicomte,"  he  said,  "you  are  a  brave  and  worthy  gen- 
tleman, one  of  those  gentlemen  whom  I  love,  and  whom  my 
august  master,  the  Emperor  Charles  V. ,  loves.  I  have  been 
a  long  time  thinking  of  doing  something  for  you;  but  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  ago  the  opportunity  has  presented  itself, 
and  I  have  seized  it.  I  have  just  been  informed  that  a  com- 
pany of  a  hundred  and  twenty  lances  which  I  have  ordered 
to  be  levied,  by  command  of  his  Majesty  the  Emperor,  on 
the  left  bank  of  the  Khine,  is  assembled  at  Spires;  I  have 
named  you  captain  of  this  company. ' ' 

' '  Monseigneur — ' '  stammered  the  young  man,  astonished, 
and  blushing  with  pleasure. 

"Here  is  your  commission,  signed  by  me,  and  sealed 
with  the  seal  of  the  Empire, ' '  continued  the  duke,  drawing 
from  his  breast  a  parchment  which  he  presented  to  the 
viscount;  "take  it,  set  out  on  the  very  instant,  and  without 
a  minute's  delay.  Gro,  M.  le  Vicomte  de  Waldeck;  show 
yourself  worthy  of  the  favor  granted  you,  and  God  keep 


The  favor  was,  in  fact,  great.  And  so  the  young  man, 
obedient  to  the  order  given  him  to  set  out  at  once,  imme- 
diately took  leave  of  his  father  and  brother,  and,  turning  to 
Emmanuel — 

"Monseigneur, "  said  he,  "you  are  truly  a  justiciary,  as 
you  are  called,  for  evil  as  well  as  for  good,  for  the  wicked 
man  as  well  as  for  the  good  man.  You  have  had  confidence 
in  me;  that  confidence  shall  be  justified.  Adieu,  mon- 
seigneur. ' '  And,  spurring  his  horse  to  a  gallop,  the  young 
man  disappeared  at  a  corner  of  the  wood. 

Emmanuel  Philibert  followed  him  with  his  eyes  until  he 
was  entirely  out  of  sight.  Then,  turning  round,  and  fixing 
a  severe  look  on  Count  Waldeck — 

"And  now  it  is  your  turn,  M.  le  Comte!"  he  said. 

"Monseigneur, "  interrupted  the  count,  "let  me  first 
thank  your  Highness  for  the  favor  you  have  just  granted 
my  son. ' ' 

' '  The  favor  I  have  granted  Vicomte  Waldeck  does  not 
deserve  thanks,"  coldly  replied  Emmanuel,  "since  he  has 
merited  it.  But  you  heard  what  he  said:  I  am  a  justiciary 
for  evil  as  well  as  for  good,  for  the  wicked  man  as  well  as 
for  the  good  man.  Surrender  your  sword,  M.  le  Comte!" 

The  count  started,  and,  in  an  accent  that  clearly  indi- 
cated he  would  not  easily  obey  the  order  just  given  him — 

1 '  Surrender  my  sword !     And  why  ?" 

"You  know  my  orders  forbidding  pillage  and  maraud- 
ing, under  penalty  of  the  lash  for  the  common  soldiers,  and 
court-martial  or  imprisonment  for  the  officers.  You  have 
violated  my  orders  by  forcibly  entering  the  Chateau  du 
Parcq,  in  spite  of  the  protest  of  your  eldest  son,  and  steal- 
ing the  gold,  jewelry  and  plate  of  the  chatelaine  inhabiting 
it.  You  are  a  marauder  and  a  pillager;  surrender  your 
sword,  M.  le  Comte  de  Waldeck!" 

The  duke  pronounced  these  words  without  the  tone  of 
his  voice  visibly  changing,  except  for  his  squire  and  page, 
who,  beginning  to  comprehend  the  situation,  looked  at  each 
other  with  a  certain  anxiety. 


Count  Waldeck  turned  pale;  but,  as  we  have  said,  it 
was  difficult  for  a  stranger  to  guess  by  the  sound  of  Em- 
manuel Philibert's  voice  the  menacing  nature  of  his  anger 
or  his  justice. 

"My  sword,  monseigneur ?"  said  Waldeck.  "Oh!  I 
must  have  committed  some  other  misdeed  ?  A  gentleman 
does  not  surrender  his  sword  for  such  a  trifle  1"  And  he 
tried  to  laugh  disdainfully. 

"Yes,  monsieur,  yes,"  returned  Emmanuel,  "you  have 
committed  something  else;  but  for  the  honor  of  the  German 
nobility  I  was  silent  about  it.  Do  you  wish  me  to  speak  ? 
Be  it  so ;  then  listen.  It  did  not  suffice  you  to  rob  the  mis- 
tress of  the  house  of  her  gold  and  jewelry  and  plate ;  you 
had  her  tied  to  the  foot  of  her  bed,  and  you  said  to  her,  'If, 
in  two  hours,  you  do  not  put  two  hundred  rose  nobles  in 
our  hands,  I  shall  set  fire  to  your  chateau!'  You  said  this; 
and  as,  at  the  end  of  the  two  hours,  the  poor  woman,  who 
had  given  you  her  last  pistole,  found  it  impossible  to  hand 
over  the  sum  demanded,  in  spite  of  the  prayers  of  your 
eldest  son,  you  set  fire  to  the  farm- buildings,  in  order  that 
the  unhappy  victim  might  have  time  to  make  her  own  reflec- 
tions before  the  fire  gained  the  chateau.  Hold!  you  will 
not  attempt  to  say  this  is  untrue:  the  smoke  and  flame  can 
be  seen  from  here.  You  are  an  incendiary ;  surrender  your 
sword,  M.  le  Comte!" 

The  count  ground  his  teeth,  for  he  was  beginning  to 
comprehend  the  extent  of  the  resolution  in  the  calm  but 
firm  words  of  the  duke. 

"Since  you  are  so  well  informed  as  to  the  beginning, 
monseigneur,"  he  said,  "you  are  no  doubt  equally  so  as  to 
the  end?" 

' '  You  are  right,  monsieur,  I  know  everything ;  but  I 
wanted  to  spare  you  the  cord,  which  you  deserve. ' ' 

"Monseigneur!"  cried  Waldeck,  in  a  menacing  tone. 

"Silence,  monsieur!"  said  Emmanuel  Philibert;  "re- 
spect your  accuser,  and  tremble  before  your  judge!  The 
end?  I  am  about  to  tell  it  to  you.  By  the  glare  of  the 


flame  already  mounting  into  the  air,  your  bastard,  who  had 
the  key  of  the  room  in  which  the  prisoner  was  garroted, 
entered  that  room.  The  unfortunate  woman  had  not  cried 
on  seeing  the  fire  approaching  her;  that  was  only  death. 
She  cried  on  seeing  your  bastard  advance  and  seize  her  in 
his  arms,  for  that  was  dishonor !  Vicomte  Waldeck  heard 
these  cries,  and  ran  up.  He  summoned  his  brother  to  re- 
store the  woman  he  was  outraging  to  liberty ;  but  instead  of 
answering  the  appeal,  he  flung  his  prisoner,  still  garroted, 
on  the  bed,  and  drew  his  sword.  Yicomte  Waldeck  also 
drew  his,  resolved  to  save  this  woman,  even  at  the  peril  of 
his  life.  The  two  brothers  attacked  each  other  furiously, 
for  there  had  been  bitter  hate  between  them  for  a  long  time. 
You  then  entered,  and,  believing  your  sons  to  be  fighting  for 
the  possession  of  this  woman,  'The  fairest  woman  in  the 
world,'  you  said,  lis  not  worth  a  single  drop  of  blood  from, 
the  veins  of  a  soldier.  Sheathe  your  swords,  boys;  I  will 
make  you  friends  again. '  Then  both  the  brothers  lowered 
their  weapons  at  your  command;  you  stepped  between 
them ;  both  followed  you  with  their  eyes,  for  they  did  not 
know  what  you  were  about  to  do.  You  approached  the 
woman,  and  before  either  of  your  sons  had  time  to  prevent 
the  infamous  deed,  you  drew  your  dagger  and  plunged  it  in 
her  breast.  Do  not  say  that  this  is  not  so ;  do  not  say  that 
this  is  not  true ;  your  dagger  is  still  wet  and  your  hands  are 
still  bloody.  You  are  an  assassin;  surrender  your  sword, 
Count  Waldeck!" 

"That  is  easily  said,  monseigneur, "  replied  the  count; 
* k  but  a  Waldeck  would  not  surrender  you  his  sword,  prince 
though  you  be,  even  if  he  stood  alone  against  you  seven ; 
for  a  stronger  reason,  he  will  not,  when  he  has  his  son  on 
his  right  and  forty  soldiers  at  his  back. ' ' 

"Then,"  said  Emmanuel,  with  a  slight  change  in  his 
voice,  "if  you  will  not  surrender  it  voluntarily,  I  must  take 
it  by  force. ' '  And,  with  a  single  bound,  his  horse  was  side 
by  side  with  Count  Waldeck' s. 

The  latter  was  pressed  too  close  to  be  able  to  draw  his 


sword;  he  reached  his  hand  to  his  holsters;  but,  before  he 
could  open  them,  Emmanuel  Philibert  had  plunged  his 
hand  in  his,  which  were  open  beforehand,  and  drew  a  pistol, 
ready  loaded,  from  them. 

The  movement  was  so  rapid  that  neither  the  bastard  of 
Waldeck,  nor  the  squire,  nor  the  page  of  the  duke,  nor 
Count  Waldeck  himself  foresaw  it.  Emmanuel  Philibert, 
with  a  hand  steady  and  sure  as  that  of  justice,  discharged 
it  at  such  close  quarters  that  he  burned  the  count's  face,  as 
well  as  blew  out  his  brains. 

The  count  had  hardly  time  to  utter  a  cry;  he  opened  his 
arms,  fell  back  slowly  on  the  croup  of  his  horse,  like  an 
athlete  whom  some  invisible  wrestler  was  bending  backward, 
lost  the  spur  from  his  left  foot,  then  from  his  right,  and 
rolled  heavily  on  the  ground. 

The  justiciary  had  done  justice:  the  count  was  killed 
on  the  spot. 

During  all  the  time  the  scene  lasted,  the  bastard  of  Wal- 
deck, entirely  sheathed  in  his  iron  mail,  had  remained  as 
motionless  as  an  equestrian  statue;  but  when  he  heard  the 
pistol-shot  and  saw  his  father  fall,  he  uttered  a  hoarse  cry 
of  rage,  which  was  further  roughened  through  the  visor  of 
his  helmet.  Then,  addressing  the  stupefied  and  frightened 
reiters — 

"Help,  comrades!"  he  shouted  in  German;  "this  man  is 
not  one  of  us.  Death!  death  to  Duke  Emmanuel  Phili- 

But  the  only  reply  of  the  reiters  was  a  shake  of  the  head 
in  sign  of  refusal. 

"Ah!"  cried  the  young  man,  allowing  himself  to  grow 
more  and  more  enraged — "ah!  you  do  not  listen  to  me! 
You  refuse  to  avenge  one  who  loved  you  as  his  children, 
who  loaded  you  with  gold,  who  gorged  you  with  booty! 
Well,  then,  I  will  avenge  him,  since  you  are  ingrates  and 

And  he  drew  his  sword,  about  to  rush  upon  the  duke. 
But  two  reiters  jumped  to  the  head  of  his  horse,  seizing  the 


rein  on  each  side  of  the  bit,  while  a  third  clasped  him  in  his 

The  young  man  struggled  furiously,  overwhelming  those 
who  held  him  with  insults. 

The  duke  gazed  on  the  spectacle  with  a  certain  pity;  he 
understood  the  despair  of  this  son  who  had  just  seen  his 
father  fall  at  his  feet. 

"Your  Highness,"  said  the  reiters,  "what  orders  have 
you  to  give  regarding  this  man,  and  what  are  we  to  do  with 

"Let  him  go  free,"  said  the  duke.  "He  threatened  me. 
If  I  arrested  him,  he  might  believe  I  was  afraid." 

The  reiters  tore  the  sword  from  the  hands  of  the  bastard 
and  left  him  free. 

The  young  man  spurred  his  horse,  which,  at  a  single 
bound,  cleared  the  distance  between  him  and  Emmanuel 

The  latter  awaited  him  with  his  hand  on  the  trigger  of 
his  second  pistol. 

"Emmanuel  Philibert,  Duke  of  Savoy,  Prince  of  Pied- 
mont," cried  the  bastard  of  Waldeck,  extending  his  hand 
toward  him  threateningly,  "you  understand,  do  you  not, 
that  from  this  day  there  is  between  me  and  you  mortal 
hatred?  Emmanuel  Philibert,  you  have  slain  my  father." 
He  lowered  his  visor.  "Look  well  at  my  face,  and  every 
time  you  see  it  again,  by  night  or  by  day,  at  festival  or  in 
battle,  woe  to  you,  Emmanuel  Philibert!" 

And  he  set  out  at  full  gallop,  shaking  his  hand,  as  if  to 
hurl  one  more  malediction  at  the  duke,  and  crying  again, 
for  the  last  time,  "Woe!" 

"Wretch!"  shouted  the  squire  of  Emmanuel,  spurring 
his  horse,  in  order  to  pursue  him. 

But  the  duke,  making  an  imperative  sign  with  his  hand — 

"Not  a  step  further,  Scianca-Ferro!"  he  said;  "I  forbid 

Then,  turning  to  his  page,  who,  pale  as  death,  seemed 
ready  to  drop  from  the  saddle — 


"What  is  the  matter,  Leone?"  he  said,  approaching, 
and  offering  his  hand.  "In  truth,  seeing  you  thus,  wan 
and  trembling,  one  would  take  you  for  a  woman!" 

* '  Oh,  my  beloved  duke, ' '  murmured  the  page,  ' '  say  again 
that  you  are  not  wounded,  or  I  die — " 

"Child!"  said  the  duke,  "am  I  not  under  the  hand  of 

Then,  addressing  the  reiters — 

"My  friends,"  he  said,  pointing  to  the  dead  body  of 
Count  Waldeck,  "give  this  man  Christian  burial,  and  let 
the  justice  I  have  executed  on  him  be  to  you  a  proof  that 
in  my  eyes,  as  in  those  of  the  Lord,  there  are  neither  great 
nor  little." 

And  making  a  sign  of  the  head  to  Scianca-Ferro  and 
Leone,  he  took  the  road  to  the  camp  with  them,  without 
any  trace  remaining  on  his  countenance  of  the  terrible  event 
that  had  just  taken  place,  except  that  the  usual  thoughtful 
furrow  on  his  forehead  seemed  a  little  more  deepened  than 



WHILE  the  adventurers,  visible  witnesses  of  the 
catastrophe  we  have  related,  after  casting  a 
melancholy  glance  on  the  smoking  ruins  of 
the  Chateau  du  Parcq,  are  regaining  their  grotto,  where 
they  will  put  their  signatures  to  the  deed  of  partnership, 
become  useless  for  the  present,  but  likely  to  bear  the  most 
marvellous  results  in  the  future  for  their  nascent  associa- 
tion; while  the  reiters,  obedient  to  the  order  given,  or 
rather  to  the  recommendation  made,  to  procure  Christian 
sepulture  for  their  dead  leader,  are  about  to  dig  the  grave 
of  him  who,  having  received  the  punishment  of  his  crime 
on  earth,  rests  now  in  the  hope  of  divine  mercy;  while,  in 


fine,  Emmanuel  Philibert  reaches  his  tent  with  his  squire 
and  page  011  each  side  of  him — let  us,  abandoning  the  pro- 
logue, mise  en  sctne,  and  secondary  characters  of  our  drama 
for  the  real  action  and  principal  characters  about  to  come 
on  the  stage,  let  us  venture,  in  order  to  give  the  reader  a 
more  ample  knowledge  of  their  disposition  and  moral  and 
political  situation,  on  an  excursion  at  once  historical  for 
some,  and  romantic  for  others,  into  the  domain  of  the  past, 
that  splendid  realm  of  the  poet  and  historian,  which  no 
revolution  can  wrest  from  them. 

Emmanuel  Philibert,  third  son  of  Charles  III.  the  Good 
and  Beatrix  of  Portugal,  was  born  in  the  castle  of  Chambery 
on  the  8th  of  July,  1528. 

He  received  his  double  name  Emmanuel  Philibert  for 
the  following  reasons:  Emmanuel,  in  honor  of  his  maternal 
grandfather  Emmanuel,  King  of  Portugal,  and  Philibert, 
in  virtue  of  a  vow  made  by  his  father  to  Saint  Philibert 
of  Tournus. 

He  was  born  at  four  in  the  afternoon,  and  appeared  so 
weak  at  his  entrance  into  life  that  the  respiration  of  the 
infant  was  supported  solely  by  the  breath  introduced  into 
his  lungs  by  one  of  the  women  of  his  mother;  and  until  he 
was  three  years  old  he  remained  with  his  head  inclined  on 
his  breast,  and  was  unable  to  stand  on  his  legs.  So,  when 
his  horoscope  was  drawn,  as  was  then  customary  at  the  birth 
of  every  prince,  and  it  was  predicted  that  the  new-born  child 
was  to  be  a  great  warrior,  and  glorify  the  House  of  Savoy 
with  a  splendor  brighter  than  it  had  received  from  Peter, 
surnamed  the  Little  Charlemagne,  or  Amadeus  Y.,  called 
the  Great,  or  Amadeus  VI.,  vulgarly  styled  the  Green  Count, 
his  mother  could  not  help  shedding  tears,  and  his  father,  a 
resigned  and  pious  prince,  saying,  with  a  shake  of  the  head 
and  an  expression  of  doubt,  to  the  mathematician  who  made 
the  prediction: 

"May  God  hear  you,  my  friend!" 

Emmanuel  Philibert  was  the  nephew  of  Charles  V.  by 
his  mother  Beatrix  of  Portugal,  the  fairest  and  most  accom- 


plished  princess  of  her  time,  and  cousin  of  Frangois  L,  by 
his  aunt,  Louise  of  Savoy,  under  whose  pillow  the  Conne*- 
table  de  Bourbon  claimed  to  have  left  the  cordon  of  the 
Order  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  which  Frangois  I.  ordered  him 
to  return. 

Another  of  his  aunts  was  that  vivacious  Margaret  of 
Austria,  who  left  a  collection  of  songs  in  manuscript  still 
to  be  seen  in  the  national  library  of  France,  and  who,  when 
attacked  by  a  storm  at  the  time  she  was  going  to  Spain  to 
marry  the  son  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  after  having  been 
betrothed  to  the  Dauphin  of  France  and  to  the  King  of  Eng- 
land, made,  under  the  impression  she  was  going  to  die,  this 
curious  epitaph  on  herself — 

Weep,  Loves,  the  fate  of  Margaret  here  laid, 
"Who  thrice  betrothed  was,  yet  died  a  maid. 

As  to  Emmanuel  Philibert,  he  was,  as  we  have  said,  so 
weak  that,  in  spite  of  the  prediction  of  the  astrologer  that 
he  would  be  a  powerful  warrior,  his  father  destined  him  for 
the  Church.  So,  at  the  age  of  three,  he  was  sent  to  Bologna 
to  kiss  the  feet  of  Pope  Clement  VII.,  who,  coming  thither 
to  give  the  crown  to  his  uncle,  the  Emperor  Charles  V. ,  and 
on  the  recommendation  of  the  latter,  the  young  prince  ob- 
tained the  promise  of  a  cardinal's  hat.  Hence  his  surname 
of  the  Cardinalin,  given  him  in  childhood,  and  which  used 
to  enrage  him. 

Why  should  this  name  enrage  the  child  ?  We  are  about 
to  see. 

The  reader  remembers  that  woman,  or  rather  that  friend, 
of  the  Duchess  of  Savoy,  who  had  breathed  life  into  the  lit- 
tle Emmanuel  Philibert  an  hour  after  his  birth,  and  just  as 
he  was  about  to  expire.  Six  months  before,  she  had  had  a 
son  who  came  into  the  world  as  strong  and  vigorous  as  that 
of  the  duchess  had  come  weak  and  languishing.  Now,  the 
duchess,  seeing  her  son  thus  saved,  said  to  her: 

' '  My  dear  Lucrezia,  this  child  is  now  as  much  yours  as 
mine;  1  give  him  to  you.  Take  him,  nourish  him  with  your 


milk  as  you  have  nourished  him  with  your  breath,  and  E 
shall  owe  you  more  than  even  he  does ;  for  he  will  only  owe 
you  life,  but  I  shall  owe  you  my  child!" 

Lucrezia  received  the  child,  of  whom  she  was  now  made 
the  mother,  as  a  sacred  trust.  And  yet  it  looked  as  if  this 
must  work  some  injury  to  the  little  Kinaldo — it  was  the 
name  of  her  own  son — if  the  heir  of  the  Duke  of  Savoy 
was  to  recover  life  and  strength  by  depriving  his  foster- 
brother  of  a  portion  of  that  nutriment  which  was  his  due. 

But  Einaldo  at  six  months  was  stronger  than  another 
child  would  have  been  at  the  end  of  a  year.  Besides,  Na- 
ture has  her  miracles,  and  the  two  infants  drew  life  from 
the  same  paps  without  the  source  of  the  maternal  milk 
being  for  a  moment  exhausted. 

The  duchess  smiled  as  she  saw,  hanging  from  the  same 
living  trellis,  this  stranger  child  so  strong,  and  her  own 
child  so  feeble. 

For  that  matter,  it  might  be  said  that  little  Einaldo  un- 
derstood this  feebleness,  and  had  compassion  on  it.  Often 
the  capricious  ducal  baby  wanted  the  pap  at  which  the  other 
was  drinking ;  and  the  latter,  a  smile  on  his  lips  white  with 
milk,  gave  place  to  his  imperious  foster-brother. 

Thus  the  two  children  grew  on  the  knees  of  Lucrezia. 
At  three  Einaldo  seemed  to  be  five;  at  three,  as  we  have 
said,  Emmanuel  Philibert  hardly  walked,  and  only  with  an 
effort  raised  his  head  from  his  breast.  This  was  the  time  of 
the  journey  to  Bologna,  when  Pope  Clement  VII.  promised 
him  the  cardinal's  hat. 

It  looked  as  if  this  promise  brought  him  good  fortune, 
and  this  name  of  Cardinalin  won  him  the  protection  of  (rod; 
for  when  he  passed  his  third  year,  his  health  improved  and 
his  body  grew  vigorous. 

But  the  one  who  in  this  respect  made  the  most  marvel- 
lous progress  was  Einaldo.  His  most  solid  playthings  flew 
into  pieces  under  his  fingers ;  he  could  not  touch  any  one  of 
them  without  breaking  it. 

Then  his  toys  were  made  of  steel,  but  he  broke  them  as 


if  they  were  china.  And  so  it  was  that  the  good  Duke 
Charles  III.,  who  amused  himself  with  seeing  the  children 
at  their  games,  called  the  companion  of  Emmanuel  Philibert 
Scianca- Ferro,  which  in  the  Piedmontese  patois  signifies, 

The  name  remained  to  him.  And  the  remarkable  thing 
was  that  Scianca- Ferro  never  used  this  miraculous  strength 
except  to  protect  Emmanuel,  whom  he  adored  instead  of 
being  jealous  of  him,  as  might  perhaps  have  happened  in  the 
case  of  another  child. 

As  to  young  Emmanuel,  he  envied  very  much  his  foster- 
brother's  strength,  and  would  have  willingly  exchanged  his 
nickname  of  Cardinalin  for  that  of  Scianca- Ferro. 

However,  he  seemed  to  gain  a  certain  vigor  from  this 
companionship  with  a  vigor  greater  than  his  own.  Scianca- 
Ferro,  bringing  his  strength  down  to  the  level  of  the  young 
prince's,  wrestled  with  him,  ran  with  him,  and,  not  to  dis- 
courage him,  allowed  himself  sometimes  to  be  outstripped 
in  the  race  and  vanquished  in  the  wrestling- bout. 

All  exercises — riding,  swimming,  fencing — were  common 
to  them.  In  all,  Scianca- Ferro  was  the  superior.  But  it 
was,  after  all,  only  an  affair  of  chronology;  and  Victor  Em- 
manuel, though  holding  back,  had  not  yet  said  his  last  word. 

The  two  children  were  inseparable,  and  loved  each  other 
like  brothers.  Each  was  jealous  of  the  other,  as  a  mistress 
might  have  been  of  her  lover;  and  yet  the  time  was  ap- 
proaching when  a  third  companion,  whom  they  would  adopt 
with  equal  affection,  was  to  mingle  in  their  games. 

One  day  when  the  court  of  Charles  III.  was  at  Yerceil, 
on  account  of  certain  disturbances  that  had  broken  out  at 
Milan,  the  two  lads,  in  company  with  their  riding-master, 
made  a  lengthy  journey  on  horseback  along  the  left  bank  of 
the  Sesia,  passed  by  Novara,  and  ventured  almost  up  to  the 
Ticino.  The  horse  of  the  young  duke  was  in  front,  when 
suddenly  a  bull,  shut  up  in  a  pasture- field,  breaking  through 
the  barriers  by  which  he  was  imprisoned,  frightened  the 
horse  of  the  prince.  The  animal  ran  away  with  him,  cross- 


ing  meadows,  and  leaping  over  streams,  bushes,  and  hedges. 
Emmanuel  was  an  admirable  rider,  so  there  was  nothing  to 
be  feared;  however,  Scianca-Ferro  rushed  after  him,  taking 
the  same  course  he  did,  and,  like  him,  leaping  over  all  the 
obstacles  he  encountered.  The  riding-master,  more  prudent, 
went  round  by  a  circular  line,  which  was  likely  to  lead  him 
to  the  point  the  two  young  people  were  making  for. 

After  a  quarter  of  an  hour's  reckless  racing,  Scianca- 
Ferro,  no  longer  seeing  Emmanuel,  and  fearing  he  had  met 
with  some  accident,  called  with  all  his  might.  Two  of  these 
appeals  remained  unanswered;  at  last  he  thought  he  heard 
the  prince's  voice  in  the  direction  of  Oleggio.  He  turned 
his  horse  on  that  side,  and  soon,  in  fact,  guided  by  the 
voice  of  Emmanuel,  he  found  his  comrade  on  the  banks 
of  an  affluent  of  the  Ticino. 

At  his  feet  was  a  dead  woman,  and  in  her  arms  a  little 
boy,  almost  dying,  of  from  four  to  five  years. 

The  horse,  which  had  grown  calm,  was  quietly  browsing 
the  young  shoots  of  the  trees,  while  his  master  was  trying 
to  restore  consciousness  to  the  child.  As  to  the  woman, 
nothing  could  be  done  for  her;  she  was  quite  dead. 

She  appeared  to  have  succumbed  to  fatigue,  misery,  and 
hunger.  The  child,  who  had  undoubtedly  shared  the  mis- 
ery and  fatigue  of  his  mother,  seemed  nearly  dead  from 

The  village  of  Oleggio  seemed  only  a  mile  from  there. 
Scianca-Ferro  set  his  horse  to  a  gallop,  and  disappeared  in 
the  direction  of  the  village. 

Emmanuel  would  have  gone  there  himself,  instead  of 
sending  his  brother;  but  the  child  clung  to  him,  and,  feel- 
ing that  there  was  still  a  bare  chance  for  its  life,  he  did  not 
wish  to  leave  it. 

The  poor  little  thing  had  drawn  him  quite  near  the 
woman,  and  was  saying,  with  that  heartrending  accent 
of  childhood,  unconscious  of  its  misfortune — - 

"Wake  up,  mamma!  please  waken,  mamma!" 

Emmanuel  wept.     What  could  he  do,  poor  child,  now 


seeing,  for  the  first  time,  the  spectacle  of  death  ?     He  had 
only  his  tears,  and  he  gave  them. 

Scianca-Ferro  reappeared;  he  brought  bread  and  a  flask 
of  Asti  wine.  They  tried  to  introduce  a  few  drops  between 
the  lips  of  the  mother — a  vain  effort:  she  was  but  a  corpse. 
There  was  nothing  to  be  done,  therefore,  except  for  the 

The  child,  while  weeping  because  his  mother  would  not 
waken,  drank  and  ate,  and  recovered  a  little  strength. 

At  this  moment  the  peasants,  whom  Scianca-Ferro  had 
summoned,  arrived.  They  had  met  the  riding-master,  who 
was  quite  scared  at  the  disappearance  of  his  two  pupils,  and 
led  him  to  the  place  appointed  by  Scianca-Ferro. 

They  then  knew  that  they  were  acting  for  the  young 
Prince  of  Savoy;  and  as  Duke  Charles  was  adored  by  his 
subjects,  they  at  once  offered  to  execute  whatever  orders 
Emmanuel  might  give  with  regard  to  the  mother  and  child. 

Emmanuel  selected  from  among  the  peasants  a  woman 
who  looked  kind-hearted  and  good;  he  gave  her  all  the 
money  he  and  Scianca-Ferro  had  on  them,  took  her  name 
down  in  writing,  and  begged  her  to  see  after  the  mother's 
funeral  and  the  most  pressing  needs  of  the  child. 

Then,  as  it  was  growing  late,  the  riding-master  insisted 
on  his  two  pupils  turning  their  horses'  heads  toward  Ver- 
ceil.  The  little  orphan  wept  bitterly;  he  did  not  want  to 
quit  his  good  friend  Emmanuel,  for  he  knew  his  name, 
though  not  his  rank.  Emmanuel  promised  to  return  to  see 
him;  this  promise  quieted  him  somewhat;  but  as  long  as  he 
could  see  him  he  continued  to  stretch  out  his  arms  toward 
the  savior  chance  had  brought  him. 

And,  in  truth,  if  the  succor  sent  by  chance,  or  rather, 
by  Providence,  to  the  poor  child,  had  been  delayed  even 
two  hours,  he  would  have  been  found  dead  beside  his 

Notwithstanding  all  the  diligence  of  the  riding-master, 
the  evening  was  far  advanced  when  they  reached  the  castle 
of  Verceil.  There  had  been  considerable  anxiety  about 


them,  and  messengers  sent  in  all  directions.  The  duchess 
was  preparing  to  give  them  a  good  scolding  when  Emman- 
uel began  his  story,  relating  it  in  his  sweet  voice,  whose 
tones  were  instinct  with  the  sadness  the  gloomy  event  had 
impressed  on  his  soul.  The  story  finished,  no  one  thought 
of  scolding,  but  rather  of  praising  the  children;  and  the 
duchess,  sharing  the  interest  felt  in  the  orphan  by  her  son, 
declared  that  on  the  day  after  the  funeral  of  the  mother, 
she  would  pay  him  a  visit. 

And  on  the  day  appointed,  the  duchess  set  out  in  a  lit- 
ter, accompanied  by  the  two  young  comrades  on  horseback. 

On  arriving  near  the  village,  Emmanuel  could  not  re- 
strain himself;  he  set  spurs  to  his  horse  and  rode  at  full 
speed  to  see  the  little  orphan  again. 

His  arrival  was  a  great  joy  for  the  unfortunate  child. 
It  had  been  necessary  to  tear  him  away  from  the  body  of 
his  mother;  he  would  not  believe  she  was  dead,  and  never 
ceased  crying — 

' '  Do  not  put  her  in  the  ground ;  do  not  put  her  in  the 
ground!  I  promise  you  she  will  awaken!" 

Ever  since  his  mother  had  been  borne  from  the  house, 
they  had  had  to  lock  him  up;  he  wanted  to  go  and  stay 
with  her. 

The  sight  of  his  savior  consoled  him  a  little. 

Emmanuel  told  him  his  mother  desired  to  see  him,  and 
was  about  to  arrive. 

"And  you  have  a  mamma  also  ?"  said  the  orphan.  "Oh, 
I  shall  pray  to  God  not  to  let  her  go  to  sleep  so  as  not  to 
waken  any  more!" 

It  was  great  news  that  Emmanuel  gave  the  peasants — 
this  coming  of  the  duchess  into  their  house;  and  as  they 
told  it  everywhere,  people  flocked  from  all  quarters  of  the 
village  in  the  direction  she  was  coming. 

So  there  was  soon  quite  a  procession,  which  arrived, 
preceded  by  Scianca-Ferro,  who  had  gallantly  remained  to 
act  as  squire  to  the  duchess. 

Emmanuel   presented   his  protege   to   his   mother.     The 


duchess  asked  the  child  what  Emmanuel  had  forgotten 
to  ask  him;  that  is  to  say,  what  was  his  name,  and  who 
was  his  mother. 

The  child  replied  that  he  was  called  Leone  and  his 
mother  Leona;  but  he  would  not  give  any  other  details, 
answering  to  all  the  questions  put  to  him,  "  I  do  not  know. ' ' 

And  yet,  strange  to  say,  it  was  easy  to  guess  that  this 
ignorance  was  feigned  and  that  it  concealed  a  secret. 

Undoubtedly,  his  mother,  when  dying,  had  advised  him 
to  only  answer  as  he  answered;  and,  indeed,  nothing  but 
the  last  recommendation  of  a  dying  mother  could  make 
such  an  impression  on  a  child  of  four  years. 

Then  the  duchess  studied  the  child  with  a  curiosity  alto- 
gether feminine.  Although  his  dress  was  coarse,  the  hands 
were  delicate  and  white;  it  was  easily  seen  that  a  mother, 
and  an  elegant  and  refined  mother,  had  taken  care  of  those 
hands.  At  the  same  time,  his  language  was  that  of  the 
aristocracy,  and  he  spoke  French  and  Italian  equally  well. 

The  duchess  ordered  the  dress  of  his  mother  to  be 
brought  to  her;  it  was  that  of  a  peasant. 

But  the  peasants  who  had  undressed  her  said  they  never 
had  seen  a  whiter  skin,  more  delicate  hands,  or  feet  more 
small  and  elegant. 

Moreover,  one  circumstance  betrayed  the  class  of  society 
to  which  the  poor  woman  must  have  belonged ;  though  her 
garb  was  that  of  a  peasant,  rough  shoes  and  drugget  gown, 
she  wore  silk  stockings. 

Clearly  she  had  fled  in  disguise;  and  of  all  her  garments 
had  only  kept  the  silk  stockings  which  betrayed  her  after 
her  death. 

The  duchess  returned  to  Leone  and  questioned  him  on 
all  these  points;  but  his  constant  answer  was,  "I  do  not 
know. ' '  She  could  not  get  any  other  reply  from  him.  She 
recommended  anew  the  poor  orphan  to  the  care  of  the 
worthy  peasants,  giving  them  double  the  sum  they  had 
already  received,  and  charged  them  to  make  inquiries 
about  the  mother  and  child  in  the  neighborhood,  promis- 


ing  them  a  liberal  reward  if  they  were  able  to  give  her 
any  information. 

Little  Leone  made  the  greatest  efforts  to  follow  Em- 
manuel; and  Emmanuel  was  very  near  begging  his  mother 
to  let  him  take  him  with  him,  so  genuine  was  the  pity  he 
felt  for  the  orphan.  He  promised  Leone  then  that  he  would 
return  to  see  him  as  soon  as  possible,  and  the  duchess  her- 
self declared  she  would  pay  him  a  second  visit. 

Unfortunately,  about  this  same  period  occurred  events 
that  compelled  the  duchess  to  break  her  promise.  For  the 
third  time  Franyois  I.  declared  war  on  Charles  V.,  on  ac- 
count of  the  duchy  of  Milan,  which  he  claimed  to  inherit 
through  Valentine  Visconti,  wife  of  Louis  d' Orleans, 
brother  of  Charles  VI. 

The  first  time  Frangois  had  won  the  battle  of  Mari- 
gnano.  The  second  time  he  had  lost  the  battle  of  Pavia. 

After  the  treaty  of  Madrid,  after  the  prison  of  Toledo, 
after,  above  all,  he  had  pledged  his  faith,  it  would  have 
been  allowable  to  imagine  that  Fra^ois  I.  had  renounced 
all  claim  to  this  unfortunate  duchy,  which,  if  won  by  him, 
would  have  made  the  King  of  France  a  vassal  of  the  Em- 
pire. But  it  was  quite  the  contrary ;  he  was  only  waiting 
for  an  opportunity  to  lay  claim  to  it  again,  and  he  seized 
the  first  that  presented  itself. 

It  was  good,  luckily ;  but  if  it  had  been  bad,  he  would 
have  seized  it  all  the  same. 

Francois  I. ,  we  know,  was  not  scrupulous  as  to  a  viola- 
tion of  those  silly  delicacies  that  often  hamper  those  donkeys 
known  by  the  name  of  honest  men. 

The  following,  then,  was  the  opportunity  placed  within 
his  reach. 

Maria  Francesco  Sforza,  son  of  Ludovico  the  Moor,1 
was  reigning  over  Milan;  but  he  was  reigning  under  the 
complete  guardianship  of  the  Emperor,  from  whom  he  had 
purchased,  on  the  23d  of  December,  1529,  his  duchy  for 

1  Many  historians  believe  that  he  derived  his  surname,  il  Moro,  not  from  his 
swarthy  complexion,  but  from  the  mulberry-tree  in  his  coat  of  arms. 

(4)— Vol.  20 


two  hundred  thousand  ducats,  payable  during  the  first 
year  of  his  reign,  and  five  hundred  thousand  payable  in 
the  two  following  years. 

As  security  for  these  payments,  the  castle  of  Milan, 
Como,  and  Pavia  remained  in  the  hands  of  the  Imperialists. 

Now  it  happened  that,  toward  1535,  a  Milanese  gentle- 
man, whose  fortune  Frangois  I.  had  made,  was  accredited 
as  ambassador  of  France  at  the  court  of  Duke  Sforza. 

This  gentleman  was  named  Francesco  Maraviglia.  Hav- 
ing grown  very  rich  at  the  court  of  France,  Francesco  Mara- 
viglia was  at  once  proud  and  happy  to  return  to  his  natal 
city  with  all  the  pomp  of  an  ambassador. 

He  brought  with  him  his  wife  and  daughter,  then  three 
years  old,  leaving  in  Paris,  among  the  pages  of  King  Fran- 
gois, his  son  Odoart,  aged  twelve  years. 

How  did  this  ambassador  come  to  offend  Charles  V.? 
"Why  did  he  invite  Sforza  to  get  rid  of  him  on  the  first  op- 
portunity ?  This  is  unknown,  and  can  only  be  known  when 
the  secret  correspondence  of  the  Emperor  with  the  Duke  of 
Milan  is  discovered,  as  was  his  secret  correspondence  with 
Cosmo  de  Medicis.  But,  however,  it  happened  that  when 
there  was  an  accidental  quarrel  between  some  subjects  of 
Sforza  and  the  servants  of  the  ambassador,  in  which  two 
of  the  former  were  slain,  Maraviglia  was  arrested  and  con- 
ducted to  the  castle  of  Milan,  held,  as  we  have  said,  by 
the  Imperialists. 

What  became  of  Maraviglia?  No  one  ever  knew  for 
certain.  Some  said  he  had  been  poisoned;  others,  that, 
having  missed  his  footing,  he  had  fallen  into  an  oubliette, 
the  neighborhood  of  which  they  neglected  to  warn  him  of. 
In  fine,  the  most  probable  version  and  the  one  most  believed 
was  that  he  had  been  executed,  or  rather  assassinated,  in 
prison.  The  certain  fact,  however,  is  that  he  had  disap- 
peared, and  with  him,  almost  at  the  same  time,  his  wife 
and  daughter,  without  leaving  a  trace  behind  them. 

These  events  had  occurred  quite  recently,  scarcely  more 
than  a  few  days  before  the  meeting  between  Emmanuel  and 


Dtniias,  I'ol.   Twenty 


the  dead  woman  and  her  abandoned  child  on  the  banks  of 
a  little  stream.  They  were  to  have  a  terrible  effect  on  the 
destiny  of  Duke  Charles. 

Frangois  I.  seized  the  opportunity  by  the  hair. 

It  was  not  the  lamentations  of  the  child  beside  him  de- 
manding vengeance  for  the  murder  of  his  father;  it  was  not 
the  royal  majesty  outraged  in  the  person  of  an  ambassador ;  it 
was  not,  in  fine,  the  law  of  nations  violated  by  an  assassination, 
which  inclined  the  balance  to  the  side  of  war.  No ;  it  was  the 
old  leaven  of  vengeance  fermenting  in  the  heart  of  him  who 
had  been  vanquished  at  Pavia  and  a  prisoner  in  Toledo. 

A  third  expedition  to  Italy  was  resolved  on. 

The  moment  was  well  chosen.  Charles  V.  was  in  Africa 
fighting  against  the  famous  Khair-Eddin,  surnamed  Bar- 

But  to  accomplish  this  fresh  invasion,  it  was  necessary 
to  pass  through  Savoy.  Now  Savoy  was  held  by  Charles 
the  Good,  father  of  Emmanuel  Philibert,  uncle  of  Frangois 
L,  and  brother-in-law  of  Charles  V. 

For  whom  would  Charles  the  Good  declare  himself  ? 
Would  it  be  for  his  nephew  ?  It  was  an  important  thing 
to  know. 

But  it  was  suspected  what  his  action  would  be;  all  the 
probabilities  pointed  to  the  Duke  of  Savoy  being  the  ally 
of  the  Empire  and  the  enemy  of  France. 

In  fact,  as  a  pledge  of  his  faith,  the  Duke  of  Savoy  had 
intrusted  to  Charles  V.  his  eldest  son  Louis,  Prince  of  Pied- 
mont. He  had  refused  to  receive  the  order  of  Saint  Michael 
from  Frangois  I.  and  a  company  of  artillery  with  a  pension 
of  twelve  thousand  crowns;  he  had  occupied  the  lands  of 
the  marquisate  of  Saluce,  a  transferable  fief  in  Dauphine. 
He  refused  homage  to  the  crown  of  France  for  that  of 
Faucigny.  He  had  expressed  his  satisfaction  at  the  defeat 
of  Pavia  in  letters  to  the  Emperor.  In  fine,  he  had  loaned 
money  to  the  Connetable  de  Bourbon,  when  the  latter 
traversed  his  states  in  order  to  go  and  get  killed  by  Ben- 
venuto  Cellini  at  the  siege  of  Eome. 


Still,  it  was  necessary  to  be  sure  if  the  doubts  were  well 

With  this  object,  Franyois  I.  sent  to  Turin  Gruillaume 
Poyet,  President  of  the  Parliament  of  Paris.  The  latter 
was  instructed  to  ask  Charles  two  things — 

The  first  was  a  passage  for  the  French  army  through 
Savoy  and  Piedmont. 

The  second,  the  delivery,  as  places  of  security,  of  Mont- 
melian,  Veillane,  Chivas,  and  Verceil. 

In  exchange,  he  offered  to  Duke  Charles  to  give  him 
lands  in  France,  and  to  give  his  daughter  Marguerite  in 
marriage  to  Prince  Louis,  eldest  brother  of  Emmanuel 

Charles  III.  deputed  Purpurat,  the  Piedmontese  presi- 
dent, to  discuss  matters  with  Gruillaume  Poyet,  the  Presi- 
dent of  the  Parliament  of  Paris.  The  former  was  author- 
ized to  permit  the  passage  of  the  French  troops  through 
the  two  provinces  of  Savoy  and  Piedmont ;  but  he  was  first 
to  parry  diplomatically  the  demand  for  the  surrender  of  the 
fortresses,  and  then,  if  Poyet  insisted,  to  give  an  absolute 

The  discussion  grew  warm  between  the  two  plenipo- 
tentiaries, until  at  last  Poyet,  routed  by  the  reasoning  of 
Purpurat,  exclaimed: 

"It  shall  be  so,  because  the  king  wills  it!" 

"Excuse  me,"  replied  Purpurat;  "but  I  do  not  find  that 
law  among  the  laws  of  Piedmont. ' ' 

And,  rising,  he  abandoned  the  future  to  the  omnipotent 
will  of  the  King  of  France  and  to  the  wisdom  of  the  Most 

The  conferences  were  broken  up,  and  in  the  course  of 
the  month  of  February,  1535,  Duke  Charles  being  in  his 
castle  of  Yerceil,  a  herald  was  introduced  into  his  presence, 
who  declared  war  against  him  in  the  name  of  King  Fran- 
9ois  I. 

The  duke  heard  him  tranquilly,  then  when  he  had  fin- 
ished his  warlike  message — 


"My  friend,"  he  said  in  a  calm  voice,  ''I  have  rendered 
only  services  to  the  King  of  France,  and  I  have  thought 
that  the  titles  of  ally,  friend,  servant,  and  uncle  might  have 
met  with  a  better  return.  I  have  done  what  I  could  to  live 
on  a  good  understanding  with  him ;  I  have  neglected  noth- 
ing that  could  prove  to  him  how  wrong  he  is  to  be  irritated 
against  me.  But  since  he  will  in  no  manner  listen  to  reason, 
and  appears  determined  to  take  possession  of  my  states,  tell 
him  that  he  shall  find  me  on  the  frontier,  and  that,  seconded 
by  my  friends  and  allies,  I  hope  to  defend  and  preserve  my 
country.  The  king  my  nephew  knows,  besides,  my  motto: 
'Nothing  fails  him  to  whom  (rod  is  left!'  ' 

And  he  dismissed  the  herald,  after  ordering  a  very  rich 
dress  and  a  pair  of  gloves  filled  with  crowns  to  be  given 

After  such  a  reply  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  pre- 
pare for  war. 

The  first  resolution  adopted  by  Charles  III.  was  to  secure 
the  safety  of  his  wife  and  son  by  placing  them  in  the  fort- 
ress of  Nice. 

The  departure  for  Nice  was  therefore  announced  as  very 

Then  Emmanuel  Philibert  decided  that  the  time  had 
come  to  obtain  from  his  mother  a  favor  he  had  delayed 
asking  until  now;  namely,  permission  to  take  Leone  away 
from  his  peasant  home,  where,  for  that  matter,  he  had  been 
left  only  provisionally,  as  it  had  been  agreed  to  make  him, 
as  well  as  Scianca,  a  companion  of  the  young  prince. 

The  Duchess  Beatrix,  as  we  have  already  said,  was  a 
woman  of  judicious  mind.  Everything  she  had  remarked 
in  the  orphan — the  delicacy  of  his  features,  the  fineness  of 
his  hands,  the  distinction  of  his  language — led  her  to  be- 
lieve that  some  great  mystery  was  hidden  under  the  rude 
garb  of  mother  and  child.  The  duchess,  besides,  was  a 
woman  of  religious  heart;  she  saw  the  hand  of  Grod  in  this 
meeting  between  Leone  and  Emmanuel,  brought  about  by 
an  accident — an  accident  almost  providential,  since  it  had 


no  other  result  than  to  conduct  the  young  prince  to  the 
dead  woman  and  the  expiring  child.  She  thought  that  at 
the  moment  when  her  family  was  losing  everything,  when 
misfortune  was  approaching  her  house,  and  when  the  angel 
of  darkness  was  pointing  out  to  her  and  her  husband  and 
child  the  mysterious  road  of  exile,  it  was  not  the  hour  to 
repulse  the  orphan,  who,  grown  to  manhood,  would  per- 
haps one  day  become  a  friend.  She  recalled  the  messenger 
of  (rod  presenting  himself  as  a  simple  traveller  on  the 
threshold  of  the  blind  Tobias,  to  whom,  by  the  hands  of 
his  son,  he  restored  later  joy  and  light;  and,  far  from 
resisting  the  prayer  of  Emmanuel,  at  the  first  word  he 
said,  she  anticipated  it,  and  with  the  permission  of  the 
duke,  authorized  her  son  to  transport  his  protege  to  Yerceil. 

From  Verceil  to  Nice,  Leone  was  to  make  the  journey 
with  the  two  other  children. 

Emmanuel  did  not  wait  longer  than  the  next  day  to  an- 
nounce the  good  news  to  Leone.  At  daybreak  he  descended 
to  the  stables,  saddled  himself  his  little  Barbary  horse,  and, 
leaving  to  Scianca  the  care  of  the  rest,  started  for  Oleggio 
with  all  the  speed  possible. 

He  found  Leone  very  sad.  The  poor  orphan  had  also 
heard  that  his  rich  and  powerful  protectors  were,  in  their 
turn,  visited  by  misfortune.  They  had  spoken  of  the  de- 
parture of  the  court  for  Nice — that  is  to  say,  for  a  country 
whose  very  name  was  unknown  to  Leone;  and  when  Em- 
manuel arrived,  breathless  from  his  race  and  sparkling  with 
joy,  Leone  was  weeping  as  if  he  had  a  second  time  lost  his 

It  is  through  tears  especially  that  children  see  the  angels. 
We  do  not  exaggerate  in  saying  that  Emmanuel  appeared 
like  an  angel  through  the  tears  of  Leone. 

In  a  few  words  everything  was  said,  explained,  and  set- 
tled, and  smiles  succeeded  tears.  There  is  with  man — and 
it  is  his  happy  time — a  period  when  tears  and  smiles  touch 
each  other  as  the  night  touches  the  dawn. 

Two  hours  after  Emmanuel,  Scianca- Ferro  arrived  with 


the  first  equerry  of  the  prince  and  two  grooms,  holding  by 
the  bridle  the  favorite  pony  of  the  duchess.  A  considera- 
ble sum  of  money  was  bestowed  on  the  peasants,  who  had 
for  six  weeks  taken  care  of  Leone.  The  latter  embraced 
them,  weeping  again.  But  this  time  tears  of  joy  were  min- 
gled with  tears  of  regret.  Emmanuel  assisted  him  to  mount, 
and  for  fear  any  accident  might  happen  to  his  dear  protege, 
he  himself  wished  to  lead  the  pony  by  the  bridle. 

Instead  of  being  jealous  of  this  new  friendship,  Scianca- 
Ferro  galloped  along  quite  joyous,  going  and  returning,  ex- 
amining the  route  as  if  he  had  been  a  real  captain,  and  smil- 
ing with  that  fine  boyish  smile  that  discloses  the  teeth  and 
the  heart  at  the  same  time,  on  the  friend  of  his  friend. 

It  was  in  this  manner  they  arrived  at  Yerceil.  The 
duchess  and  the  duke  embraced  Leone,  and  Leone  was 
one  of  the  family. 

The  next  day  they  set  out  for  Nice,  which  they  reached 
without  any  accident. 



IT  IS  not  our  intention — God  forbid !  others  having  done 
it  much  better  than  we  could — it  is  not  our  intention, 
we  repeat,  to  relate  the  wars  of  Italy,  and  write  the 
history  of  the  great  rivalry  that  desolated  the  beginning 
of  the  sixteenth  century.  No,  God  has  happily,  in  this 
case  at  least,  assigned  us  a  more  humble  task;  but  still, 
we  must  be  permitted  to  say,  a  task  more  picturesque  for 
ourselves  and  more  amusing  for  our  readers.  We  shall, 
therefore,  see,  in  the  narrative  about  to  follow,  only  the 
summits  of  great  events,  which,  like  unto  the  topmost  ridges 
of  the  Alps,  lift  above  the  clouds  their  peaks  covered  with 
eternal  snows. 


Frangois  I.  broke  through  Savoy,  crossed  Piedmont,  and 
spread  over  Italy. 

For  three  years  the  cannon  of  France  and  of  the  Empire 
thundered,  now  in  Provence,  now  in  the  duchy  of  Milan. 

Fair  plains  of  Lombardy,  only  the  Angel  of  Death  can 
tell  how  many  corpses  were  needed  to  give  you  your  inex- 
haustible fertility. 

During  this  time,  under  the  lovely  sky  of  Nice,  all  azure 
in  daytime,  all  flame  at  night,  when  the  very  insects  of  dark- 
ness are  winged  sparks,  the  children  grew  up  under  the  look 
of  the  Princess  Beatrix,  and  under  the  eye  of  God. 

Leone  had  become  an  indispensable  member  of  the  joy- 
ous trinity;  he  shared  in  all  the  sports,  but  not  in  all  the 
exercises.  The  too  violent  studies  of  the  art  of  war  did  not 
suit  his  little  hands,  and  his  arms  seemed  to  the  masters  of 
this  art  too  weak  ever  to  bear  in  martial  fashion  the  lance 
or  the  buckler.  It  is  true  Leone  was  three  years  younger 
than  his  companions.  But  it  appeared  as  if  in  reality  there 
were  ten  years'  difference  between  them,  particularly  since 
— undoubtedly  by  the  grace  of  the  Lord,  who  was  reserving 
him  for  great  things — Emmanuel  had  begun  to  grow  in 
health  and  strength,  as  if  he  had  set  himself  the  task  of 
gaming  in  this  respect  the  distance  in  the  race  in  which 
he  had  been  outstripped  by  his  foster-brother,  Scianca- 

And  so  their  respective  offices  fell  quite  naturally  to 
the  companions  of  the  little  duke.  Scianca-Ferro  became 
his  squire,  and  Leone  his  page. 

Meanwhile  news  came  that  Prince  Louis,  the  eldest  son 
of  the  duke,  had  died  at  Madrid. 

It  was  a  great  sorrow  for  Duke  Charles  and  Duchess 
Beatrix.  But  with  the  sorrow  God  gave  them  the  conso- 
lation, if  in  truth  there  be  any  consolation  for  a  father  and, 
above  all,  for  a  mother,  in  the  death  of  their  offspring. 
Prince  Louis  had  been  for  a  long  time  a  stranger  to  his 
parents;  while,  under  the  eyes  of  the  duke  and  duchess, 
Emmanuel  Philibert,  who  appeared  every  day  to  do  more 


and  more  credit  to  the  prediction  of  the  astrologer,  was 
flourishing  like  a  lily,  growing  vigorous  as  an  oak. 

But  God,  who  had  doubtless  wished  only  to  try  the  ex- 
iles, before  long  struck  them  with  a  still  more  cruel  blow. 
The  Duchess  Beatrix  fell  sick  of  some  disease  that  ex- 
hausted all  her  vitality;  and  in  spite  of  the  art  of  physi- 
cians, and  the  care  of  her  husband,  child,  and  attendants, 
she  expired  on  the  8th  of  January,  1538. 

The  duke's  grief  was  deep,  but  religious;  that  of  Em- 
manuel bordered  on  despair.  Happily  the  ducal  child  had 
near  him  that  other  child  who  knew  what  were  tears.  What 
would  have  become  of  him  without  this  gentle  companion, 
who  did  not  try  to  console  him,  and  who  was  contented  to 
mingle  his  own  tears  with  his  ? — this  was  all  his  philosophy. 

Undoubtedly  Scianca-Ferro  also  suffered  from  this  loss; 
if  he  could  have  restored  life  to  the  duchess  by  going  in 
search  of  some  terrible  giant  and  challenging  him  in  his 
castle,  or  defying  some  fabulous  dragon  in  his  cavern,  this 
paladin  of  eleven  years  would  have  set  out  on  the  very  in- 
stant, and  without  hesitation,  to  accomplish  this  exploit ;  for 
though  he  lost  his  life  in  the  enterprise,  would  it  not  give 
back  joy  and  happiness  to  his  friend  ?  But  this  was  the 
limit  of  all  the  consolation  he  could  offer ;  his  robust  nature 
did  not  lend  itself  kindly  to  enervating  weeping.  A  wound 
might  make  his  blood  flow;  no  sorrow  would  make  his  tears 
flow.  What  was  necessary  to  Scianca-Ferro  was  dangers  to 
vanquish,  not  misfortunes  to  endure. 

And  so  what  was  he  doing  while  Emmanuel  Philibert 
was  weeping,  with  his  head  resting  on  the  shoulder  of 
Leone  ?  He  was  saddling  his  horse,  girding  on  his  sword, 
hanging  his  club  from  his  saddle-bows,  and  wandering 
through  that  beautiful  stretch  of  hills  which  borders  the 
Mediterranean.  Like  a  mastiff  whose  rage  is  excited  against 
sticks  and  stones,  which  he  grinds  between  his  teeth,  he  was 
figuring  to  his  imagination  that  he  was  dealing  blows  at  the 
heretics  of  Germany  or  the  Saracens  of  Africa,  was  making 
fantastic  enemies  out  of  insensible  and  inanimate  objects, 


and,  in  default  of  cuirasses  to  batter  and  helmets  to  cleave, 
was  breaking  rocks  with  his  mace  and  splitting  pines  and 
oaks  with  his  sword,  seeking  and  finding  a  relief  for  his  sor- 
row in  the  violent  exercises  suited  to  his  rude  organization. 

Hours,  days,  and  months  slipped  by;  tears  were  dried. 
The  grief,  living  at  the  bottom  of  the  heart  as  a  gentle  re- 
gret and  tender  memory,  disappeared  gradually  from  the 
countenance;  eyes  that  searched  in  vain  for  the  spouse, 
mother,  and  friend  here  below  were  raised  to  heaven,  seek- 
ing for  the  angel  there. 

The  heart  that  turns  to  God  is  very  close  to  conso- 

Moreover,  events  continued  their  march,  imposing  on 
sorrow  itself  a  powerful  distraction. 

A  congress  had  been  decided  on,  to  be  participated  in 
by  Pope  Paul  III.  (Alexander  Farnese),  Frangois  I.,  and 
Charles  "V.  The  subjects  of  discussion  were :  the  expulsion 
of  the  Turks  from  Europe,  the  creation  of  a  duchy  for  Louis 
Farnese,  and  the  restitution  to  the  Duke  of  Savoy  of  his 
states.  The  congress  was  to  be  held  at  Nice. 

Nice  had  been  selected  by  the  Pope  and  by  Charles  V., 
in  hopes  that  Frangois  L,  in  recognition  of  the  hospitality 
received  from  his  uncle,  would  be  more  ready  for  con- 

Then  there  was  also  a  kind  of  understanding  to  be 
brought  about  between  Pope  Paul  III.  and  Charles  V. 

Alexander  Farnese  had  given  his  eldest  son  Louis  the 
duchies  of  Parma  and  Placentia,  in  exchange  for  the  prin- 
cipalities of  Camerino  and  Nepi,  which  he  had  just  taken 
from  him  to  give  to  his  second  son  Octavio.  This  investi- 
ture was  displeasing  to  Charles  V.,  who  had  lately  refused 
to  grant  the  Pope,  on  the  death  of  Maria  Francesco  Sforza 
in  1535,  that  famous  duchy  of  Milan  that  was,  if  not  the 
cause,  at  least  the  pretext  of  this  interminable  war  between 
France  and  the  Empire;  and  this  he  did,  disregarding  any 
amount  of  money  offered,  however  large. 

For  that  matter,   Charles  V.  was  quite  right;  the  new 


Duke  of  Parma  and  Placentia  was  that  infamous  Louis  Far- 
nese  who  used  to  say  he  did  not  care  to  be  loved,  provided 
he  was  feared;  who  disarmed  the  nobles,  flogged  women, 
and  outraged  bishops. 

The  popes  of  the  sixteenth  century  were  not  happy  in 
their  children. 

The  congress  of  Nice  had  then  for  object  not  only  to 
reconcile  the  Duke  of  Savoy  and  the  King  of  France,  but 
also  the  Pope  and  the  Emperor. 

However,  Charles  III.,  whom  misfortune  had  rendered 
cautious,  could  not  see  without  anxiety  his  nephew,  his 
brother-in-law,  and  their  holy  arbitrator  installed  in  his  last 
fortified  place. 

Who  could  assure  him  that,  instead  of  restoring  the 
states  that  were  taken  from  him,  they  would  not  deprive 
him  of  what  was  left  to  him  ? 

At  all  hazards  then,  and  for  greater  security,  he  shut 
up  Emmanuel  Philibert,  his  last  heir,  just  as  Nice  was  his 
last  city,  in  the  fortress  that  commanded  the  place,  charg- 
ing the  governor  not  to  open  the  castle  to  any  force  what- 
ever, though  this  force  came  on  the  part  of  pope,  emperor, 
or  king. 

Then  he  went  in  person  to  meet  Paul  III. ,  who,  accord- 
ing to  the  programme  arranged,  was  to  precede  the  Emperor 
and  King  of  France  by  some  days. 

The  Pope  was  no  more  than  a  league  from  Nice,  when 
a  letter  reached  the  governor  from  the  duke,  ordering  him 
to  prepare  the  Pope's  lodgings  in  the  castle. 

This  letter  was  brought  by  his  Holiness 's  captain  of 
guards,  who,  at  the  head  of  two  hundred  foot- soldiers, 
demanded  to  be  admitted  into  the  castle,  in  order  to  wait 
on  his  sovereign. 

Duke  Charles  spoke  of  the  Pope,  but  he  had  said  noth- 
ing of  the  captain  nor  of  his  two  hundred  men. 

The  thing  was  embarrassing;  the  Pope  was  expressly 
asking  what  the  governor  was  expressly  forbidden  to  grant. 

The  governor  assembled  a  council. 


Emmanuel  Philibert  was  present,  although  hardly  eleven 
years  old. 

Without  doubt  he  had  been  summoned  there  to  give 
courage  to  his  defenders. 

While  they  were  deliberating,  the  child  perceived  hang- 
ing from  the  wall  the  wooden  model  of  the  castle  now 
likely  to  form  a  bone  of  contention  between  the  Pope  and 
Charles  III. 

"By  my  faith,  gentlemen!"  he  said  to  the  councillors, 
who  had  been  disputing  an  hour  without  being  the  further 
advanced  for  that,  uyou  are  very  much  embarrassed  for  a 
trifle.  Since  we  have  a  castle  of  wood  and  a  castle  of  stone, 
let  us  give  the  wooden  one  to  the  Pope  and  keep  .the  stone 
one  for  ourselves. ' ' 

"Gentlemen,"  said  the  governor,  "we  have  been  taught 
our  duty  by  the  words  of  a  child.  His  Holiness  shall  have, 
if  he  like,  the  castle  of  wood;  but  I  swear  by  God,  he  shall 
not  have,  while  I  am  alive,  the  castle  of  stone!" 

The  reply  of  the  child  and  the  reply  of  the  governor 
were  carried  to  the  Pope,  who  did  not  insist  further,  and 
took  lodgings  in  the  convent  of  the  Cordeliers. 

The  Emperor  arrived,  then  the  King  of  France. 

Each  lodged  under  his  tent  on  either  side  of  the  city, 
with  the  Pope  between  them. 

The  congress  was  opened. 

Unfortunately  the  results  were  far  different  from  what 
was  hoped. 

The  Emperor  claimed,  on  behalf  of  his  brother-in-law, 
the  states  of  Savoy  and  Piedmont. 

Frangois  I.  claimed  for  his  second  son,  the  Duke  of 
Orleans,  the  duchy  of  Milan. 

In  fine,  the  Pope,  who  also  wanted  to  settle  his  son 
there,  demanded  that  a  prince  belonging  neither  to  the 
family  of  Frangois  nor  of  Charles  V.  should  be  elected 
Duke  of  Milan,  on  condition  of  receiving  investitutre  from 
the  Emperor  and  paying  a  tribute  to  the  King  of  France. 

Each  wanted  the  impossible,  since  he  wanted  the  exact 

THE  PAGE  OF  THE  DUKE  OF  SAVOY        87 

contrary  of  what  the  others  wanted.  Everybody,  indeed, 
desired  a  truce — Fra^ois  I. ,  in  order  to  give  a  little  rest  to 
his  soldiers,  who  were  half -exhausted,  and  to  his  finances, 
which  were  entirely  so ;  Charles  Y. ,  in  order  to  repress  the 
incursions  of  the  Turks  in  his  two  kingdoms  of  Naples  and 
Sicily ;  Paul  III. ,  in  order  to  make  sure  of  the  principalities 
of  Parma  and  Placentia  for  his  son,  since  he  could  not  es- 
tablish him  in  the  duchy  of  Milan. 

A  ten  years'  truce  was  concluded.  Frangois  I.  himself 
fixed  on  the  figure. 

"Ten  years  or  nothing!"  he  said  peremptorily.  And 
ten  years  were  given  him. 

It  is  true  that  he  was  the  first  to  break  this  truce  at  the 
end  of  four. 

Charles  III.,  who  feared  that  all  these  conferences  would 
end  in  the  sequestration  of  the  little  territory  remaining  to 
him,  saw  his  illustrious  guests  depart  with  more  joy  than  he 
had  seen  them  arrive. 

They  left  him  as  they  had  found  him,  only  somewhat 
poorer  by  the  debts  they  had  incurred  in  his  states  and 
forgotten  to  pay. 

The  Pope  was  the  only  one  who  pulled  anything  out  of 
the  fire;  he  had  pulled  two  marriages — the  marriage  of  his 
second  son  Octavio  Farnese  with  Margaret,  of  Austria, 
widow  of  Julian  de  Medicis,  who  had  been  assassinated 
at  Florence  in  the  church  of  Saint  Mary  of  the  Flowers; 
and  the  marriage  of  his  niece  Yittoria  with  Antoine,  eldest 
son  of  Charles  of  Yendome. 

Delivered  from  his  anxiety  with  respect  to  Frangois  I. , 
Charles  Y.  made  at  Grenoa  his  preparations  against  the 
Turks.  These  preparations  were  immense;  they  lasted 
two  years. 

At  the  end  of  these  two  years,  when  the  fleet  was  on 
the  point  of  sailing,  Duke  Charles  resolved  to  pay  a  visit 
to  his  brother-in-law,  and  present  his  son  Emmanuel  Phili- 
bert,  now  entering  on  his  thirteenth  year. 

No  need  of  our  say  ing  that  Scianca-Ferro  and  Leone  were 


among  the  travellers.  Emmanuel  Philibert  never  took  a 
journey  without  them. 

For  some  time  the  young  prince  had  been  very  much 
preoccupied.  He  was  busied  about  the  composition  of  a 
discourse  of  which  he  never  thought  of  speaking  to  Mon- 
seigneur  Louis  Alardet,  bishop  of  Lausanne,  his  preceptor, 
nor  to  his  governors,  Louis  de  Chatillon,  lord  of  Musinens, 
grand  equerry  of  Savoy,  Jean  Baptist  Provana,  lord  of 
Leyni,  and  Edouard  de  Geneve,  baron  of  Lullens. 

He  was  content  with  unbosoming  himself  on  the  subject 
to  his  squire  and  his  page. 

It  was  nothing  less  than  a  discourse  embodying  a  peti- 
tion to  the  Emperor  Charles  V.  to  allow  him  to  accompany 
him  on  the  expedition  against  the  Barbary  pirates. 

Scianca-Ferro  refused  his  aid,  saying  that,  if  it  had  been 
a  challenge  to  carry,  he  would  have  been  equal  to  the  task; 
but  as  to  helping  in  making  up  a  speech,  he  knew  his  in- 

Leone  refused,  saying  that  the  mere  thought  of  the 
dangers  Emmanuel  Philibert  would  naturally  run  in  such 
an  expedition  disturbed  his  mind  to  that  degree  that  he 
could  not  begin  to  put  together  the  very  first  words  of 
such  a  petition. 

The  young  prince  found  then  that  he  must  rely  on  him- 
self alone.  Therefore,  with  the  assistance  of  Titus  Livy, 
Quintus 'Curtius,  Plutarch,  and  all  the  makers  of  discourse 
of  antiquity,  he  composed  the  one  he  reckoned  on  address- 
ing to  the  Emperor. 

The  Emperor  was  lodging  with  his  friend  Andrea  Doria, 
in  the  fine  palace  which  looks  like  the  king  of  the  port  of 
Genoa,  and  was  following  the  provisioning  of  his  fleet, 
while  promenading  the  magnificent  terraces  from  which 
the  splendid  admiral,  after  dining  the  ambassadors  of 
Venice,  had  flung  his  silver  plate  into  the  sea. 

Duke  Charles,  Emmanuel  Philibert,  and  their  suite  were 
introduced  to  the  Emperor  as  soon  as  they  were  announced. 

The  Emperor  embraced  his  brother-in-law,  and  was  about 


to  embrace  his  nephew  also;  but  Emmanuel  Philibert  extri- 
cated himself  respectfully  from  the  august  embrace,  put  one 
knee  on  the  ground,  and  with  the  gravest  air  in  the  world, 
his  squire  and  page  at  his  side,  without  his  father  having 
even  the  least  idea  of  what  he  was  going  to  say,  pronounced 
the  following  words: 

"Devoted  to  the  maintenance  of  your  dignity  and  your 
cause,  which  are  those  of  God  and  of  our  holy  religion, 
I  come  freely  and  joyfully  to  supplicate  you,  Caesar,  to 
receive  me  as  a  volunteer  among  that  infinite  number  of 
warriors  who  are  present  from  all  quarters  to  range  them- 
selves under  your  banners ;  fortunate  should  I  be,  O  Csesar, 
to  learn  under  the  greatest  of  kings  and  under  an  invincible 
emperor  the  discipline  of  camps  and  the  science  of  war. ' ' 

The  Emperor  looked  at  him  and  smiled;  and  while 
Scianca-Ferro  was  expressing  quite  loudly  his  admiration 
at  the  discourse  of  his  prince,  and  Leone,  pale  with  terror, 
was  begging  Grod  to  inspire  the  Emperor  with  the  good 
thought  of  refusing  the  offer  of  Emmanuel's  services,  the 
monarch  replied  gravely: 

' '  Prince,  I  thank  you  for  this  mark  of  your  attachment. 
Persist  in  these  good  sentiments;  they  will  be  useful  to  us 
both.  But  you  are  still  too  young  to  follow  me  to  the  wars. 
If,  however,  you  are  always  moved  by  the  same  ardor  and 
determination,  you  may  rest  assured  that  in  a  few  years  you 
shall  not  want  for  opportunities. ' ' 

And,  raising  the  young  prince,  he  embraced  him.  Then, 
to  console  him,  he  detached  his  own  order  of  the  Golden 
Fleece  and  passed  it  round  his  neck. 

"Ah,  mordieu/"  cried  Scianca-Ferro,  "that  is  something 
better  than  a  cardinal's  hat!" 

.  "You  have  a  bold  comrade  there,  fair  nephew,"  said 
Charles  V.;  "and  we  shall  give  him  a  chain  in  lieu  of  the 
cross  we  may  bestow  on  him  some  time  or  other. ' ' 

And,  taking  a  gold  chain  from  the  neck  of  one  of  his 
lords,  he  threw  it  to  Scianca-Ferro,  saying: 

' '  For  you,  fair  squire. ' ? 


But  quick  as  was  the  movement  of  Charles  V.,  Scianca- 
Ferro  had  time  to  place  a  knee  on  the  ground,  so  that  it  was 
in  this  respectful  attitude  he  received  the  Emperor's  present. 

"  And  now, "  said  the  victor  of  Pavia,  "it  is  right  that 
every  one  have  his  share,  even  the  page. ' ' 

And,  drawing  a  diamond  from  his  little  finger,  "Fair 
page,"  he  said,  "it  is  your  turn." 

But  to  the  great  astonishment  of  Emmanuel  Philibert, 
Scianca-Ferro,  and  all  the  spectators,  Leone  did  not  respond, 
and  remained  motionless  in  his  place. 

"Oh,  oh!"  said  Charles  V.,  "we  have  a  deaf  page,  it 
would  seem."  And  shrugging  his  shoulders,  "Come  for- 
ward, fair  page,"  he  said. 

But  instead  of  obeying,  the  page  took  a  step  backward. 

"Leone!"  exclaimed  Emmanuel,  seizing  the  page's  hand 
and  attempting  to  lead  him  forward. 

But,  wonderful  to  tell,  Leone  snatched  away  his  hand, 
uttered  a  cry,  and  rushed  from  the  place. 

"There  is  a  page  for  you  who  is  not  covetous,"  said 
Charles  Y.  ' '  You  must  tell  me  where  you  are  able  to  get 
such,  fair  nephew.  The  diamond  I  wished  to  give  him  is 
worth  a  thousand  pistoles." 

Then,  turning  to  his  courtiers,  "A  good  example  to 
follow,  gentlemen!"  said  Charles  Y. 



ALL  the  efforts  made  by  Emmanuel  Philibert  during 
their  return  to  the  Corsi  palace,  where  he  lodged 
with  his  father,  could  not  induce  Leone  to  tell,  not 
only  the  cause  of  his  refusal  of  the  diamond,  but  the  reason 
why,  like  a  wild  young  falcon,  he  fled  with  a  scream  of 
terror.     The  child  remained  dumb,  and  no  entreaty  could 
draw  a  word  from  his  lips  on  the  subject. 


It  was  the  same  obstinacy  the  Duchess  Beatrix  made 
vain  efforts  to  triumph  over  when  she  tried  to  obtain  from 
the  child  some  information  about  his  mother,  which  he 
constantly  refused  to  give. 

Only  how  could  the  Emperor  Charles  V.  be  concerned 
in  the  catastrophe  that  had  struck  the  orphan  page  ?  This 
was  what  it  was  impossible  for  Emmanuel  Philibert  to 
divine.  However  it  might  be,  he  preferred  to  find  the 
whole  world  wrong,  even  his  uncle,  rather  than  for  a  mo- 
ment suspect  Leone  of  inconsistency  and  levity. 

Two  years  had  passed  since  the  truce  of  Nice.  It  was 
a  very  long  time  for  Frangois  I.  to  keep  his  word.  Conse- 
quently every  one  was  astonished,  and  especially  Charles 
Y.,  who  during  his  interview  with  his  brother-in-law  could 
not  help  feeling  anxious  as  to  what  the  King  of  France 
would  do  when  he,  Charles  Y.,  was  no  longer  there  to  pro- 
tect the  poor  duke. 

And,  in  fact,  scarcely  had  the  Emperor  set  sail,  when  the 
Duke  of  Savoy,  on  his  return  to  Nice,  received  a  messenger 
from  Frangois  I. 

Frangois  I.  proposed  to  restore  Savoy  to  his  uncle,  pro- 
vided the  latter  surrendered  Piedmont  and  allowed  it  to  be 
annexed  to  the  crown  of  France. 

The  duke,  indignant  at  such  a  proposal,  dismissed  the 
messenger  of  his  nephew,  forbidding  him  to  appear  again 
in  his  presence. 

Who  had  inspired  Frangois  I.  with  this  audacity  of  de- 
claring war  a  fourth  time  on  the  Emperor  ? 

It  was  because  he  had  two  new  allies,  Luther  and  Soli- 
man,  the  Huguenots  of  Germany  and  the  Saracens  of  Africa. 
Strange  allies  for  the  most  Christian  king,  for  the  eldest  son 
of  the  Church! 

Singular  thing!  During  this  long  struggle  between 
Frangois  I.  and  Charles  Y.  it  was  the  one  who  is  styled 
the  roi  chevalier  that  was  constantly  breaking  his  word. 
After  losing  everything  except  honor  on  the  battlefield  of 
Pa  via,  he  inflicted  on  this  same  honor,  which  had  remained 


untouched  in  spite  of  defeat,  an  ineffaceable  stain  by  signing 
in  prison  what  he  had  no  intention  of  keeping. 

And  look  at  him  now,  this  king  whom  historians  ought 
to  banish  from  history,  as  Christ  chased  the  buyers  and 
sellers  from  the  Temple — look  at  him,  this  soldier  knighted 
by  Bayard  and  cursed  by  Saint- Yallier;  as  soon  as  he  has 
broken  his  word,  he  seems  hurled  into  insanity:  he  is  the 
friend  of  the  Turk  and  the  heretic ;  he  gives  the  right  hand 
to  Soliman  and  the  left  to  Luther;  he  marches  side  by  side 
with  the  son  of  Mahomet — he,  a  son  of  Saint-Louis.  There- 
fore, God,  after  sending  him  defeat,  the  daughter  of  His 
anger,  sends  him  the  plague,  the  daughter  of  His  vengeance. 

All  this  does  not  prevent  him  being  styled  in  books,  at 
least  in  those  of  the  historians,  the  roi  chevalier  / 

It  is  true  we  poets  call  Mm  the  infamous  king,  a  perjurer 
of  his  word  toward  his  enemies,  a  perjurer  of  his  word  to- 
ward his  friends,  a  perjurer  of  his  word  to  his  Grod. 

This  time,  as  soon  as  the  answer  of  the  Duke  of  Savoy 
was  received,  it  was  Nice  that  he  threatened. 

The  Duke  of  Savoy  left  in  Nice  a  brave  Savoyard  knight 
named  Odinet  de  Montfort,  and  retired  to  Verceil,  where  he 
drew  together  the  few  forces  he  could  still  dispose  of. 

Emmanuel  Philibert  had  solicited  from  his  father  the 
favor  of  remaining  at  Nice,  and  of  making  his  first  arms 
at  once  against  Soliman  and  Fra^ois  I. ;  but  the  last  heir 
of  his  house  was  too  precious  to  the  duke  to  permit  of  such 
a  request  being  allowed. 

It  was  not  the  same  with  Scianca-Ferro ;  permission  was 
granted  him,  and  he  made  good  use  of  it. 

Scarcely  were  the  duke,  his  son,  Leone,  and  their  suite 
some  leagues  from  Nice,  when  a  fleet  of  two  hundred  sail 
was  seen  flying  French  and  Turkish  flags.  It  landed  in  the 
port  of  Villa  Franca  ten  thousand  Turks  commanded  by 
Khair-Eddin,  and  twelve  thousand  French  commanded 
by  the  Due  d'Enghien. 

The  siege  was  terrible ;  the  garrison  defended  itself  des- 
perately. Every  one,  citizen,  soldier,  and  gentleman,  per- 


formed  prodigies  of  valor.  A  breach  was  made  in  the  city 
in  ten  several  places.  They  were  entered  by  Turks  and 
Frenchmen;  then  every  street,  every  lane,  every  house, 
was  defended.  Fire  kept  pace  with  the  besiegers.  Odinet 
de  Montfort  retired  into  the  castle,  leaving  to  the  enemy 
a  city  in  ruins. 

The  next  day,  a  herald  summoned  him  to  surrender;  but 
he,  shaking  his  head,  answered: 

"Friend,  you  make  a  mistake  in  proposing  to  me  such 
baseness.  My  name  is  Montfort;  my  arms  are  pales ,  and 
my  motto,  11  faut  tenir. ' ' 

Montfort  was  worthy  of  his  motto,  his  arms,  and  his 
name.  He  held  out  until  the  arrival  of  the  duke  with  four 
thousand  Piedmontese,  and  of  Alfonso  of  Avalos,  on  the 
part  of  the  Emperor,  with  six  thousand  Spaniards,  forced 
the  Turks  and  French  to  raise  the  siege. 

It  was  high  festival  for  Duke  Charles  and  his  subjects 
the  day  he  returned  to  Nice,  ruined  though  the  city  was. 
It  was  also  high  festival  for  Emmanuel  Philibert  and  his 
squire.  Scianca-Ferro  had  gained  the  name  given  him  by 
Charles  III.  When  his  foster-brother  asked  him  how  it 
felt  striking  real  cuirasses  and  real  bucklers,  "Bah!"  he 
answered,  "it  is  not  so  difficult  as  splitting  oaks;  it  is  not 
so  hard  as  breaking  rocks." 

"Oh,  why  was  I  not  there!"  murmured  Emmanuel  Phil- 
ibert, without  perceiving  that  Leone,  clinging  to  his  arm, 
had  turned  pale  in  thinking  of  the  dangers  Scianca-Ferro 
had  already  run,  and  of  those  Emmanuel  might  run  one  day. 

It  is  true  that  some  time  after  our  poor  page  was  fully 
reassured  by  the  peace  of  Crespy,  the  result  of  the  invasion 
of  Provence  by  Charles  V.,  as  well  as  of  the  battle  of 

Peace  was  signed  on  the  14th  of  October,  1544.  It  stip- 
ulated that  Philippe  d' Orleans,  second  son  of  Frangois  I., 
should  marry  in  two  years  the  daughter  of  the  Emperor,  and 
receive  as  dowry  the  duchy  of  Milan  and  the  Low  Coun- 
tries ;  that,  on  his  side,  the  King  of  France  should  renounce 


his  claims  to  the  kingdom  of  Naples,  and  restore  to  the 
Duke  of  Savoy  what  he  had  taken  from  him,  except  the 
fortresses  of  Pignerol  and  Montmelian,  which  would  remain 
united  to  the  French  territory  as  places  of  security. 

The  treaty  was  to  be  executed  in  two  years:  that  is  to 
say,  at  the  time  of  the  marriage  of  the  Due  d' Orleans  with 
the  daughter  of  the  Emperor. 

As  we  see,  we  have  now  arrived  at  the  year  1545;  the 
children  had  grown.  Leone,  the  youngest  of  the  three,  was 
fourteen;  Emmanuel  was  seventeen;  Scianca-Ferro,  the  eld- 
est, was  six  months  more  than  Emmanuel. 

What  was  passing  in  the  heart  of  Leone,  and  why  was 
the  young  man  becoming  sadder  and  sadder  ?  Questions 
vainly  put  to  each  other  by  Scianca  and  Emmanuel;  ques- 
tions vainly  put  to  Leone  by  Emmanuel. 

And,  indeed,  it  was  strange.  The  more  Leone  advanced 
in  years,  the  less  the  young  page  followed  the  example  of 
his  two  companions.  Emmanuel,  to  make  his  surname  of 
Cardinalin  quite  forgotten,  and  the  squire  to  deserve  more 
and  more  his  surname  of  Scianca-Ferro,  passed  their  entire 
days  in  sham  battles ;  the  young  lads,  with  sword  or  lance 
or  axe  ever  in  their  hands,  were  rivals  in  address  and 
strength.  All  that  can  be  won  by  skill  in  the  use  of  arms, 
Emmanuel  had  acquired;  all  the  force  and  vigor  God  can 
give  to  human  muscles,  Scianca-Ferro  had  received  from 

During  this  time,  Leone  would  stand  pensive  on  some 
tower  from  which  he  could  see  the  exercises  of  the  two 
youths,  and  follow  Emmanuel  with  his  eyes;  or  if  their  ex- 
citement carried  them  too  far  away,  he  took  a  book,  retired 
to  some  distant  corner  of  the  garden,  and  read. 

The  only  thing  Leone  learned  with  joy — and  doubtless 
because  he  saw  in  it  a  means  of  following  Emmanuel— was 
to  ride  on  horseback;  but  for  some  time,  as  his  melancholy 
gradually  increased,  he  renounced  even  this  exercise. 

One  thing  especially  that  astonished  Emmanuel  was  that 
at  the  idea  he  was  soon  to  become  a  rich  and  puissant 


prince,  the  countenance  of  Leone  became  more  and  more 

On  a  certain  day,  the  duke  received  a  letter  from  the 
Emperor  Charles  V.,  in  which  there  was  question  of  a  mar- 
riage between  Emmanuel  Philibert  and  the  daughter  of  his 
brother,  King  Ferdinand.  Leone  was  present  at  the  read- 
ing of  this  letter;  he  could  not  dissemble  the  effect  it  pro- 
duced on  him,  and  to  the  great  astonishment  of  Duke 
Charles  III.  and  of  Scianca-Ferro,  who  sought  in  vain  for 
the  motives  of  such  grief,  he  went  out,  sobbing  wildly. 

As  soon  as  Duke  Charles  returned  to  his  apartments, 
Emmanuel  rushed  after  his  page.  The  sentiment  he  ex- 
perienced for  Leone  was  strange,  and  in  no  way  resembled 
that  with  which  Scianca-Ferro  inspired  him.  To  save  the 
life  of  Scianca-Ferro,  he  would  have  given  his  life;  to  spare 
the  blood  of  his  foster-brother,  he  would  have  given  his 
own;  but  his  life  and  his  blood  he  would  have  given  to 
arrest  a  tear  trembling  on  the  long  dark  eyelashes  of  Leone. 

Therefore,  having  seen  him  weep,  he  wished  to  know  the 
cause  of  this  grief.  For  more  than  a  year  he  had  perceived 
the  growing  sorrow  of  the  young  page,  and  he  had  often 
asked  the  cause  of  such  sadness;  but  Leone  had  immedi- 
ately made  an  effort  of  self-control,  had  shaken  his  head, 
as  if  to  chase  away  some  gloomy  thought,  and  replied  with 
a  smile: 

"I  am  too  happy,  Monseigneur  Emmanuel,  and  I  am 
always  afraid  such  happiness  may  not  last!" 

And  Emmanuel  in  turn  shook  his  head ;  but  as  he  per- 
ceived that  too  much  importunity  only  seemed  to  render 
Leone  more  unhappy,  he  contented  himself  with  taking 
his  hands  in  his  own  and  gazing  on  him  fixedly,  as  if 
to  question  him  in  every  sense. 

But  Leone  would  slowly  turn  away  his  eyes,  and  gently 
withdraw  his  hands  from  Emmanuel. 

And  Emmanuel  would  then  sadly  seek  Scianca-Ferro, 
who  did  not  even  think  of  asking  what  was  the  matter,  who 
never  took  it  into  his  head  to  grasp  hands  and  question  with 


a  look,  so  different  was  the  friendship  uniting  Emmanuel  to 
Scianca-Ferro  from  that  uniting  Emmanuel  to  Leone. 

But  on  that  day  Emmanuel  vainly  searched  for  the  page 
for  more  than  an  hour  in  the  castle  and  park;  he  did  not 
find  him.  He  questioned  everybody ;  none  had  seen  Leone. 
At  last  he  addressed  one  of  the  grooms;  according  to  the 
latter,  Leone  had  entered  the  church,  and  must  be  there 

Emmanuel  ran  to  the  church,  took  in  at  a  glance  the 
whole  interior  of  the  gloomy  edifice,  and  saw  Leone  on  his 
knees  in  the  most  retired  corner  of  the  darkest  chapel. 

He  approached  him  near  enough  almost  to  touch  him 
without  the  page,  lost  in  meditation,  even  suspecting  his 
presence.  Then  he  made  a  step  forward  and  touched  his 
shoulder,  pronouncing  his  name. 

Leone  started,  and  regarded  Emmanuel  with  almost  a 
scared  expression. 

4 '  Pray  what  are  you  doing  in  this  church  at  this  hour, 
Leone?"  asked  Emmanuel,  anxiously. 

"I  am  asking  God,"  said  Leone,  sadly,  "to  grant  me  the 
strength  to  execute  the  plan  which  I  am  contemplating." 

"And  what  is  this  plan,  child?"  asked  Emmanuel. 
"May  I  not  know  it?" 

"On  the  contrary,  monseigneur, "  replied  Leone,  "you 
shall  be  the  first  to  know  it. ' ' 

"You  swear  it  to  me,  Leone?" 

"Alas,  yes,  monseigneur!"  replied  the  young  man,  with 
a  sad  smile. 

Emmanuel  took  his  hand  and  tried  to  draw  him  out  of 
the  church ;  but  Leone  gently  freed  his  hand,  as  he  was  ac- 
customed doing  for  some  time  now,  and,  kneeling  again, 
begged  the  young  duke  to  leave  him  alone. 

"By  and  by,"  he  said;  "just  at  present  I  want  to  be 
alone  with  Grod." 

There  was  something  so  solemn  and  melancholy  in  the 
tones  of  the  young  man  that  Emmanuel  did  not  venture 
to  resist. 


He  left  the  church,  but  waited  for  Leone  at  the  door. 

Leone  started  on  perceiving  him,  and  yet  he  did  not 
seem  astonished  to  find  him  there. 

"And  shall  I  know  this  secret  some  day  or  other?" 
asked  Emmanuel. 

"To-morrow  I  hope  to  have  strength  enough  to  tell  it 
to  you,  monseigneur, "  replied  Leone. 


"In  this  church." 

"At  what  hour?" 

"Come  at  the  same  hour  as  to-day." 

"And  in  the  meantime,  Leone?"  asked  Emmanuel,  en- 

4 '  In  the  meantime  I  hope  that  monseigneur  will  not  force 
me  to  quit  my  chamber ;  I  need  solitude  and  reflection. ' ' 

Emmanuel  regarded  the  page  with  an  inexpressible  pang 
at  the  heart,  and  conducted  him  to  the  door  of  his  chamber. 
Arrived  there,  Leone  wished  to  take  the  hand  of  the  prince 
and  kiss  it.  Emmanuel,  in  turn,  dropped  his  hand,  threw 
his  two  arms  around  his  comrade,  and  attempted  to  em- 
brace him;  but  Leone  gently  repulsed  him,  disengaged 
himself,  and  with  an  accent  of  unutterable  sweetness  and 
melancholy  said — 

' l  To-morrow,  monseigneur. ' ' 

And  he  entered  his  room. 

Emmanuel  remained  a  moment  motionless  at  the  door. 
He  heard  Leone  shooting  the  bolt. 

The  chill  of  the  iron  as  he  heard  seemed  to  penetrate  to 
the  depths  of  his  soul. 

"My  God!"  he  murmured  quite  low;  "what  is  coming 
over  me,  and  what  is  this  I  am  feeling  ?" 

"What  the  devil  are  you  doing  there?"  said  a  rough 
voice  behind  him,  while  a  vigorous  hand  was  pressed  on 
his  shoulder. 

Emmanuel  heaved  a  sigh,  took  the  arm  of  Scianca-Ferro, 
and  drew  him  into  the  garden. 

They  sat  down  side  by  side  on  a  bench. 


Emmanuel  related  to  Scianca-Ferro  all  that  had  just 
passed  between  him  and  Leone. 

Scianca-Ferro  reflected  a  moment,  cast  up  his  eyes,  and 
bit  his  fist. 

Then  suddenly,  "I  bet  I  know  what's  the  matter,"  he 

"What  is  it  then?" 

"Leone  is  in  love!" 

It  seemed  to  Emmanuel  as  if  he  had  received  a  thrust 
through  the  heart. 

"Impossible!"  he  stammered. 

"And  why  impossible?"  retorted  Scianca-Ferro.  "I  am 
the  same  myself. ' ' 

"You!     And  with  whom?"  asked  Emmanuel. 

"Eh,  parbleuf  with  Gervaise,  the  daughter  of  the  porter 
of  the  castle.  She  was  terribly  afraid  during  the  siege,  poor 
child,  particularly  when  night  came,  and  so  to  reassure  her, 
I  kept  her  with  me. ' ' 

Emmanuel  made  a  motion  with  his  shoulders  to  signify 
that  he  was  very  sure  that  Leone  did  not  love  the  daughter 
of  a  porter. 

Scianca-Ferro  misinterpreted  the  gesture  of  Emmanuel, 
which  he  took  for  a  mark  of  disdain. 

"Ah,  Master  Cardinalin!"  he  said  (in  spite  of  the  collar 
of  the  Golden  Fleece,  at  certain  moments  Scianca-Ferro 
still  gave  this  title  to  Emmanuel),  "you  needn't  be  quite 
so  dainty.  As  for  me,  I  declare  to  you,  I  prefer  Gervaise 
to  all  the  beautiful  ladies  of  the  court.  And  should  there 
be  a  tournament,  I  am  ready  to  wear  her  colors  and  defend 
her  beauty  against  all  comers!" 

"I  would  pity  those  who  would  not  be  of  your  opinion, 
my  dear  Scianca-Ferro,"  replied  Emmanuel. 

"And  you  are  right;  because  I  would  strike  as  hard  for 
the  daughter  of  a  porter  as  for  the  daughter  of  a  king." 

Emmanuel  rose,  pressed  Scianca-Ferro' s  hand,  and  re- 
turned to  his  apartments. 

Decidedly,  as  he  had  said,  Scianca-Ferro  struck  too  hard 



to  comprehend  what  was  passing  in  the  heart  of  Emmanuel, 
and  to  divine  what  was  passing  in  the  soul  of  Leone. 

As  to  Emmanuel,  although  endowed  with  a  greater  deli- 
cacy of  feeling  and  a  more  exquisite  susceptibility  of  spirit, 
he  sought  vainly  in  the  solitude  of  his  chamber  and  in  the 
silence  of  the  night,  not  only  for  what  was  passing  in  the 
soul  of  Leone,  but  for  what  was  agitating  his  own  heart. 

He  therefore  awaited  the  morrow  impatiently.  The 
morning  slipped  by  slowly,  without  Emmanuel  seeing 
Leone.  When  the  hour  came,  he  walked  trembling  to  the 
church,  as  if  something  of  the  highest  importance  was  about 
to  be  decided  in  his  life. 

The  treaty  of  Crespy,  signed  a  year  before,  and  which 
was  to  finally  restore  or  take  from  him  his  states,  had  ap- 
peared to  him  of  less  gravity  than  the  secret  he  was  about 
to  learn  from  Leone. 

He  found  the  young  man  on  the  same  spot  as  on  the 
evening  before.  Without  doubt  he  had  been  a  long  time 
praying.  Still,  his  face  gave  evidence  of  a  resignation  full 
of  sadness. 

Emmanuel  went  quickly  up  to  him.  Leone  received  him 
with  a  gentle,  but  melancholy  smile. 

"Well?"  asked  Emmanuel. 

"Well,  monseigneur, "  replied  Leone,  "I  have  a  favor  to 
beg  of  you. ' ' 

"What  is  it,  Leone?" 

"You  see  my  weakness  and  unntness  for  all  bodily  exer- 
cises. In  your  almost  royal  future  you  require  strong  men 
like  Scianca-Ferro,  and  not  weak  and  timid  children  like 
me,  monseigneur."  Leone  made  an  effort,  and  two  big 
tears  coursed  down  his  cheeks.  "Monseigneur,  I  beg  of 
you  the  singular  favor  of  allowing  me  to  leave  you. ' ' 

Emmanuel  took  a  step  backward.  His  life,  begun  be- 
tween Scianca-Ferro  and  Leone,  had  never  presented  itself 
to  him  in  the  future  as  deprived  of  either  of  these  two 

"Leave  me  ?"  he  said  to  Leone  in  amazement. 

(5)— Vol.  20 


Leone  did  not  reply,  and  bent  his  head. 

"Leave  me  ?"  repeated  Emmanuel,  with  an  accent  of  the 
most  poignant  sorrow.  "You  leave  me!  me!  impossible!" 

"It  is  necessary,"  said  Leone,  in  a  voice  almost  unintel- 

Emmanuel,  like  one  who  feels  himself  becoming  mad, 
bore  his  hand  to  his  forehead,  looked  at  the  altar,  and  let 
his  two  arms  fall  inert  along  his  body. 

For  a  few  seconds,  he  questioned  himself,  then  he  ques- 
tioned God,  and,  as  he  received  no  response  either  from 
earth  or  heaven,  he  fell  back  discouraged. 

"Leave  me!"  he  resumed  for  the  third  time,  as  if  he 
could  not  grow  accustomed  to  the  word — "me,  who  found 
you  dying,  Leone;  me,  who  received  you  as  a  messenger 
from  Providence;  me,  who  have  always  treated  you  as  a 
brother!  Oh!" 

"It  is  for  that  very  reason,  monseigneur:  it  is  because 
I  owe  you  too  much,  and  because  in  remaining  near  you 
I  can  make  no  return  for  what  I  owe  you;  it  is  because  I 
wish  to  spend  my  whole  life  in  prayer  for  my  benefactor. ' ' 

"Pray  for  me!"  said  Emmanuel,  more  and  more  aston- 
ished. "And  where?" 

"In  some  holy  monastery,  which  seems  a  place  much 
better  suited  for  a  poor  orphan  like  me  than  that  which 
I  would  occupy  in  a  brilliant  court  such  as  yours  is  sure 
to  be." 

"My  mother,  my  poor  mother!"  murmured  Emmanuel, 
"what  would  you  say,  you  who  loved  him  so  well,  if  you 
heard  this?" 

"In  presence  of  that  God  who  is  listening  to  us,"  said 
Leone,  placing  his  hand  solemnly  on  the  arm  of  the  young 
prince — "in  presence  of  that  God  who  is  listening  to  us,  she 
would  say  that  I  am  right. ' ' 

There  was  such  an  accent  of  truth,  such  conviction  of 
heart,  if  not  of  conscience,  in  the  reply  of  Leone,  that  Em- 
manuel was  shaken  by  it. 

"Leone,"   he  said,   "do  what  you  wish,  my  child;  you 


are  free.  I  have  tried  to  bind  your  heart;  but  I  have  never 
had  the  intention  of  binding  your  body.  However,  I  ask 
you  not  to  precipitate  your  resolution;  take  ei^ht  days, 

"Oh,"  said  Leone,  "if  I  do  not  set  out  on  the  moment 
when  God  gives  me  strength  to  leave  you,  I  shall  never  be 
able  to  do  so ;  and  I  tell  you, ' '  continued  the  child,  breaking 
into  sobs,  "I  must  depart." 

"Depart!     But  why,  why  depart?" 

To  this  question  Leone  replied  by  the  same  inflexible  si- 
lence he  had  exhibited  on  two  previous  occasions — the  first, 
when  at  the  village  of  Oleggio  the  duchess  had  questioned 
him  on  his  parents  and  his  birth;  the  second,  when  at  Genoa 
Emmanuel  wished  to  know  why  he  refused  the  diamond  of 
Charles  V. 

He  was  about  to  insist  on  an  answer  when  he  heard  a  step 
in  the  church. 

It  was  one  of  his  father's  servants,  who  announced  that 
Duke  Charles  desired  to  see  him  on  the  instant. 

Important  news  had  just  been  received  from  France. 

"You  see,  Leone,"  said  Emmanuel  to  the  child,  "I  must 
leave  you  now;  I  will  see  you  again  in  the  evening,  and  if 
you  persist  in  your  resolution,  well,  you  shall  be  free,  my 
child.  You  may  leave  me  to-morrow,  or  even  this  evening, 
if  you  believe  you  ought  to  remain  with  me  no  longer. ' ' 

Leone  did  not  reply;  he  fell  on  his  knees  with  a  deep 
groan.  It  looked  as  if  his  heart  were  broken. 

Emmanuel  departed;  but  before  leaving  the  church,  he 
could  not  help  turning  his  head  two  or  three  times  to  learn 
if  the  child  felt  as  much  pain  in  seeing  him  depart  as  he  felt 
in  departing. 

Leone  remained  alone  and  prayed  for  another  hour ;  then 
he  grew  calmer  and  returned  to  his  chamber.  In  the  ab- 
sence of  Emmanuel,  his  resolution,  tottering  in  the  presence 
of  the  young  prince,  became  more  firm,  being  strengthened 
by  that  angel  with  the  heart  of  ice  whom  men  call  reason. 

But  once  in  his  chamber,  the  idea  that  Emmanuel  might 


appear  at  any  moment  and  make  a  final  attempt  to  move 
him,  disturbed  the  child. 

At  every  noise  he  heard  on  the  staircase,  he  started;  the 
footsteps  resounding  in  the  corridor  seemed,  when  passing 
before  his  door,  to  be  treading  on  his  heart. 

Two  hours  glided  past;  a  step  was  heard.  Oh,  this  time 
Leone  had  no  longer  any  doubt;  he  had  recognized  the 

The  door  opened,  and  Emmanuel  appeared.  He  was  sad, 
and  yet  in  his  look  there  was  a  blending  of  joy  with  this 
sadness.  ''Well,  Leone,"  he  asked,  after  closing  the  door, 
"have  you  reflected?" 

" Monseigneur, "  replied  Leone,  "when  you  left  me,  my 
reflections  were  already  made. ' ' 

"So  that  you  persist  in  abandoning  me  ?" 

Leone  had  not  the  strength  to  reply;  he  contented  him- 
self with  making  a  sign  of  the  head  in  the  affirmative. 

"And  this,"  continued  Emmanuel,  with  a  melancholy 
smile — "and  this,  because  I  am  going  to  be  a  great  prince 
and  to  have  a  brilliant  court  ?" 

Leone  inclined  his  head  anew. 

"Well,"  said  Emmanuel,  with  a  certain  bitterness,  "on 
this  point  you  may  be  reassured.  I  am  to-day  more  miser- 
able than  I  have  ever  been!" 

Leone  raised  his  head,  and  Emmanuel  could  see  the 
amazement  in  his  beautiful  eyes  shine  through  his  tears. 

"The  second  son  of  the  King  of  France,  the  Due  d' Or- 
leans, is  dead,"  said  Emmanuel,  "so  that  the  treaty  of 
Crespy  is  broken. ' ' 

"And — and?"  asked  Leone,  questioning  Emmanuel  with 
every  muscle  of  his  face. 

"And,"  returned  Emmanuel,  "as  the  Emperor  Charles 
V. ,  my  unclt,  will  not  give  the  duchy  of  Milan  to  my  cousin 
Frangois  I.,  my  cousin  Frangois  I.  will  not  restore  his  states 
to  my  father. ' ' 

"But,"  asked  Leone  with  an  indescribable  feeling  of  an- 
guish, "that  marriage  with  the  daughter  of  Ferdinand,  that 


marriage  proposed  by  the  Emperor  himself — that  marriage 
will  take  place?" 

"Ah!  my  poor  Leone,  the  man  whom  the  Emperor 
Charles  V.  wished  as  the  husband  of  his  niece  was  Count 
of  Bresse,  Duke  of  Savoy,  and  Prince  of  Piedmont;  it  was, 
in  fine,  a  crowned  husband,  not  poor  Emmanuel  Philibert, 
who  out  of  all  his  states  retains  only  the  city  of  Nice,  the 
valley  of  Aosta,  and  a  few  patches  scattered  here  and  there 
through  Savoy  and  Piedmont." 

"Oh!"  cried  Leone,  with  a  feeling  of  joy  he  could  not 
stifle.  But,  almost  immediately  recovering  that  powerful 
control  over  himself  that  threatened  to  escape  him,  "No 
matter,  monseigneur;  this  must  not  change  anything  of 
what  was  arranged,"  he  said. 

"And  so,"  asked  Emmanuel,  sadder  and  gloomier  at 
this  resolution  of  the  child  than  he  had  been  at  the  news 
of  the  loss  of  his  states,  "you  quit  me  forever,  Leone?" 

"It  is  as  necessary  to-day  as  it  was  yesterday,  Em- 
manuel. ' ' 

"Yesterday,  Leone,  I  was  rich,  I  was  powerful,  I  had  a 
ducal  crown  on  my  head;  to-day,  I  am  poor,  despoiled,  and 
have  nothing  left  but  my  sword.  In  leaving  me  yesterday 
you  would  be  only  cruel;  leaving  me  to-day,  you  will  be 
ungrateful.  Adieu,  Leone." 

"Ungrateful!"  exclaimed  Leone;  "0  God!  you  hear 
him;  he  says  I  am  ungrateful." 

Then,  as  with  bent  brows  and  gloomy  eye,  the  young 
prince  was  preparing  to  leave  the  chamber — 

"Oh,  Emmanuel!"  cried  Leone,  "do  not  quit  me  thus; 
it  would  kill  me!" 

Emmanuel  turned  round;  the  arms  of  the  child  were 
stretched  out  to  him.  Leone  was  pale,  tottering,  almost 

He  rushed  forward  and  supported  him  in  his  arms,  and, 
carried  away  by  the  first  impulse — an  impulse  he  could  not 
account  for — he  pressed  his  lips  on  the  lips  of  his  companion. 

Leone  uttered  a  cry  as  agonizing  as  if  a  red-hot  iron  had 


touched  them,  fell  backward,  and  fainted.  The  button  of 
his  doublet  was  pressing  on  his  throat;  Emmanuel  opened 
it.  Then,  as  the  child  was  stifling  in  his  arms,  he  tore  it  off, 
and  at  the  same  time  to  give  him  air  opened  all  the  buttons 
of  his  vest;  but  this  time  it  was  Emmanuel  who  uttered  a 
cry,  not  of  sorrow,  but  of  surprise,  astonishment,  and  joy. 

Leone  was  a  woman. 

After  returning  to  consciousness,  Leone  existed  no  longer ; 
but  Leona  was  the  mistress  of  Emmanuel  Philibert. 

From  that  time  there  was  no  longer  question  for  the  poor 
child  of  separating  from  her  lover,  to  whom  now  everything 
was  clear  without  a  word  of  explanation — sadness,  solitude, 
and  desire  of  flight.  Perceiving  that  she  loved  Emmanuel 
Philibert,  Leona  had  wished  to  be  separated  from  him;  .but 
the  moment  the  young  man  had  taken  possessioniof  her  love, 
Leona  gave  him  her  life. 

In  the  eyes  of  every  one  else,  the  page  continued  to  be  a 
young  man,  and  was  called  Leone.  For  Emmanuel  Phili- 
bert alone,  Leone  was  a  beautiful  young  girl,  and  was  called 

As  a  prince,  Emmanuel  Philibert  lost  Bresse,  Piedmont, 
and  Savoy,  with  the  exception  of  the  valley  of  Aosta,  and 
the  cities  of  Nice  and  Verceil;  but  as  a  man  he  lost  nothing, 
since  God  gave  him  Scianca-Ferro  and  Leona;  that  is  to  say, 
the  two  most  magnificent  presents  in  the  gift  of  heaven  that 
God  can  bestow  on  one  of  his  elect — devotion  and  love. 



LET  us  now  tell  in  a  few  lines  all  that  passed  during 
the  period  of  time  elapsing  between  this  period  and 
the  one  we  have  reached  at  present. 
Emmanuel   Philibert   had   said   to   Leone   that   he   had 
nothing  left  but  his  sword. 


The  league  of  the  Protestants  of  Germany,  raised  by  John 
Frederick,  Elector  of  Saxony,  who  was  disturbed  by  the  suc- 
cessive encroachments  of  the  Empire,  had,  on  breaking  out, 
given  the  young  prince  an  opportunity  of  offering  that  sword 
to  Charles  Y. 

This  time  it  was  accepted. 

The  pretext  was  that,  as  long  as  the  Emperor  lived,  his 
brother  Ferdinand  could  not  be  King  of  the  Eomans. 

The  league  was  formed  in  the  little  town  of  Smalkalde, 
situated  in  the  county  of  Henecery,  and  belonging  to  the 
Landgrave  of  Hesse;  hence  the  name  of  League  of  Smalkalde, 
under  which  it  is  known. 

Henry  VIII.  had  a  scruple,  and  kept  apart  from  it;  Fran- 
gois  I. ,  on  the  contrary,  entered  into  it  with  all  his  heart. 

The  thing  was  of  old  date;  it  dated  from  the  22d  of  De- 
cember, 1530,  the  day  of  the  first  meeting. 

Soliman  was  also  in  the  league.  In  fact,  he  lent  his  aid 
to  it  by  sending  troops  to  besiege  Messina  in  1532;  but 
Charles  V.  had  marched  against  him  with  an  army  of 
ninety  thousand  foot- soldiers  and  thirty  thousand  cavalry, 
and  forced  him  to  raise  the  siege. 

Then,  the  plague  assisting  him,  he  had  destroyed  the 
army  of  Frangois  I.  in  Italy,  so  that,  on  one  side,  had  in- 
tervened the  treaty  of  Cambrai,  the  5th  of  August,  1529, 
and  on  the  other  the  treaty  of  Nuremberg,  the  23d  of  July, 
1532,  which  had  given  a  few  moments  of  repose  to  Europe. 

We  know  already  how  long  treaties  made  with  Frangois 
I.  lasted.  The  treaty  of  Nuremberg  was  broken,  and  the 
league  of  Smalkalde,  which  had  had  time  to  reunite  all 
its  forces,  broke  out. 

The  Emperor  marched  in  person  against  the  Smalkal- 
dists.  What  was  passing  in  Germany  always  seemed  to 
affect  more  peculiarly  what  was  passing  elsewhere. 

It  was  because  Charles  V.  understood  that  since  the  de- 
cadence of  the  Papacy,  the  greatest  power  in  this  world  was 
the  Empire. 

It  was  in  these  circumstances  that  Emmanuel  Philibert 


set  out  for  Worms  on  the  27th  of  May,  1545,  where  the  Em- 
peror was  staying.  The  young  prince  was,  as  usual,  accom- 
panied by  Scianca-Ferro  and  Leone. 

He  was  attended  by  forty  gentlemen. 

It  was  all  the  army  his  father  could  raise  in  his  states  and 
send  to  the  Emperor — he  who  still  bore  the  titles  of  Duke  of 
Savoy,  Chablais,  and  Aosta;  Prince  of  Piedmont,  Achaia, 
and  the  Morea;  Count  of  Geneva,  Nice,  Asti,  Bresse,  and 
Eomont;  Baron  of  Vaud,  (rex,  and  Faucigny;  Lord  of  Ver- 
ceil,  Beaufort,  Bugey,  and  Freibourg;  Prince  and  Perpetual 
Vicar  of  the  Holy  Empire;  Marquis  of  Italy  and  King  of 

Charles  V.  received  his  nephew  most  affectionately.  He 
permitted  him  to  bear  the  title  of  Majesty  in  his  presence, 
on  account  of  that  kingdom  of  Cyprus  to  which  his  father 
laid  claim. 

Emmanuel  Philibert  repaid  this  kindly  reception  by  per- 
forming prodigies  of  valor  at  the  battles  of  Ingolstadt  and 

The  last  ended  the  struggle.  Ten  of  the  forty  gentlemen 
of  Emmanuel  Philibert  were  absent  from  the  roll-call  in  the 
evening;  they  were  dead  or  wounded. 

As  to  Scianca-Ferro,  recognizing  the  elector  John  Fred- 
rick in  the  midst  of  the  battle  by  his  powerful  Friesland 
horse,  his  gigantic  figure,  and  the  terrible  blows  which  he 
struck,  he  had  kept  particularly  close  to  him. 

Certainly  the  young  man  would  have  won  on  that  day 
the  name  of  Scianca-Ferro,  if  it  had  not  been  given  him 

With  a  blow  of  his  terrible  battle-axe,  he  broke  the  right 
arm  of  the  prince,  then  with  the  blade  of  the  same  weapon 
he  cut  his  helmet  and  face  at  the  same  time ;  so  that  when 
the  prisoner  raised  the  mutilated  visor  of  this  same  helmet 
in  presence  of  the  Emperor,  he  had  to  name  himself.  He 
was  no  longer  recognizable;  his  face  was  one  frightful 

Fran9ois  I.  had  died  a  month  before.     When  dying,  he 



said  to  his  son  that  all  the  misfortunes  of  France  had  come 
from  his  alliance  with  the  Protestants  and  the  Turks,  and, 
recognizing  that  Charles  V.  had  the  Almighty  God  on  his 
side,  he  recommended  the  future  King  of  France  to  keep 
on  good  terms  with  him. 

There  was  then  an  interval  of  peace,  during  which  Em- 
manuel Philibert  went  to  see  his  father  at  Verceil.  The 
interview  was  tender  and  full  of  deep  affection;  doubtless 
the  Duke  of  Savoy  had  a  presentiment  that  he  was  embrac- 
ing his  son  for.  the  last  time. 

The  recommendation  of  Frangois  I.  to  Henri  II.  did  not 
leave  a  deep  impression  in  the  heart  of  the  latter — a  king 
without  military  genius,  but  with  warlike  instincts — and 
the  war  was  renewed  on  account  of  the  assassination  of 
the  Duke  of  Placentia,  that  Paul  Louis  Farnese  of  whom 
we  have  already  spoken. 

He  was  assassinated  in  Placentia  in  1548,  by  Pallavicini, 
Landi,  Anguisuola  and  Gronfalonieri,  who  immediately  after 
the  assassination  placed  the  city  in  the  hands  of  Ferdinand 
of  Gronzague,  the  Milanese  governor  of  Charles  Y. 

On  the  other  hand,  Octavio  Farnese,  second  son  of  Paul 
III.,  had  taken  possession  of  Parma,  and,  in  order  not  to 
be  forced  to  surrender  it,  had  invoked  the  protection  of 
Henri  II. 

Now  during  the  life  of  Paul  Louis  even,  Charles  V.  had 
never  ceased  to  claim  Parma  and  Placentia  as  forming  parts 
of  the  duchy  of  Milan. 

The  reader  will  call  to  mind  the  differences  he  had  on 
this  subject  with  Paul  III. 

Nothing  more  was  required  to  rekindle  the  war,  which 
flamed  up  at  the  same  time  in  Italy  and  the  Low  Countries. 

It  was  in  Flanders,  as  always,  that  Charles  Y.  made  his 
greatest  efforts.  It  was  then  quite  naturally  that  our  eyes, 
on  the  lookout  for  Emmanuel  Philibert,  were  turned  toward 
the  north  at  the  beginning  of  this  book. 

We  have  told  how,  after  the  siege  of  Metz  and  the  cap- 
ture of  Therouanne  and  Hesdin,  the  Emperor,  charging  his 


nephew  to  rebuild  the  latter  city,  had  named  him  Com- 
mander-in-chief of  his  armies  in  Flanders  and  Governor 
of  the  Low  Countries. 

Then,  as  if  to  counterbalance  this  great  honor,  an  inef- 
fable sorrow  struck  the  heart  of  Emmanuel  Philibert.  On 
the  17th  of  September,  1553,  his  father,  the  Duke  of  Savoy, 

It  is  with  this  rank  of  commander- in- chief,  and  this  sor- 
row which,  if  not  denoted  by  his  garb,  as  in  the  case  of 
Hamlet,  was  not  the  less  imprinted  on  his  features,  that 
we  have  seen  him  issuing  from  the  imperial  camp;  and  it 
is  after  enforcing  his  authority  as  Eomulus  enforced  his  that 
we  see  him  return  to  it. 

A  messenger  from  Charles  V.  was  waiting  for  him  at  the 
entrance  to  his  tent;  the  Emperor  desired  to  speak  to  him 
that  very  moment, 

Emmanuel  at  once  leaped  from  the  saddle,  threw  the  bri- 
dle to  one  of  his  men,  nodded  to  his  squire  and  page  as  a 
sign  that  he  would  meet  them  after  his  return,  unbuckled 
his  sword,  and  placed  it  under  his  arm,  as  he  was  accus- 
tomed to  do  when  he  walked,  wishing  at  need  to  always 
have  the  hilt  within  reach  of  his  hand,  and  then  took  his 
way  to  the  tent  of  the  modern  Caesar. 

The  sentry  presented  arms,  and  he  entered,  preceded  by 
the  messenger  who  was  going  to  announce  his  arrival  to  the 

The  field  tent  of  the  Emperor  was  divided  into  four 
compartments,  without  reckoning  a  kind  of  antechamber, 
or  rather  portico  supported  by  four  pillars. 

These  four  compartments  of  the  imperial  tent  served  as  a 
dining-room,  parlor,  bedchamber  and  office.  Each  of  them 
had  been  furnished  by  the  gift  of  a  city,  and  adorned  with 
the  trophy  of  a  victory. 

The  only  trophy  of  the  Emperor's  bedchamber  was  the 
sword  of  Frangois  I.  hanging  at  the  head  of  his  bed.  The 
trophy  was  simple  enough,  the  reader  may  well  think;  but 
it  had  more  value  in  the  eyes  of  Charles  V.,  who  carried  it 


with  him  even  into  the  monastery  of  Saint- Just,  than  all  the 
trophies  of  the  other  three  rooms  united. 

He  who  writes  these  lines  has  often,  with  a  sad  and  mel- 
ancholy look  toward  the  past,  held  and  drawn  this  sword, 
once  held  by  Fran§ois  I.,  who  surrendered  it;  by  Charles 
V.,  who  received  it;  and  by  Napoleon,  who  recovered  it. 

Strange  nothingness  of  the  things  of  this  world ! 

Having  become  almost  the  sole  dowry  of  a  beautiful  but 
fallen  princess,  it  is  to-day  the  property  of  a  servant  of 
Catherine  II. 

O  Fransois  I. !     O  Charles  V. !     O  Napoleon! 

In  the  antechamber,  although  he  barely  crossed  it,  Em- 
manuel Philibert — with  that  glance  of  the  born  ruler  of  men 
that  takes  in  everything  in  a  second — remarked  a  man  whose 
hands  were  tied  behind  his  back,  and  who  was  guarded  by 
four  soldiers. 

The  man,  thus  bound,  was  clad  like  a  peasant.  As  his 
head  was  uncovered,  Emmanuel  Philibert  saw  reason  to  con- 
clude that  neither  his  hair  nor  complexion  were  in  harmony 
with  his  garb. 

He  thought  it  was  a  French  spy  they  had  just  arrested, 
and  that  the  Emperor  had  summoned  him  in  connection  with 
this  spy. 

Charles  Y.  was  in  his  cabinet;  the  duke  was  introduced 
as  soon  as  he  was  announced. 

Charles  Y. ,  born  along  with  the  sixteenth  century,  was 
at  this  time  a  man  of  fifty-five  years,  not  tall,  but  vigorous; 
his  keen  eyes  sparkled  under  the  eyebrows,  but  only  when 
they  were  not  dulled  by  pain.  His  hair  was  grizzled,  but 
his  beard,  more  thick  than  long,  was  of  an  ardent  red. 

He  was  lying  on  a  sort  of  Turkish  divan  covered  with 
Eastern  stuffs  that  had  been  captured  in  the  tent  of  Soliman 
before  Yienna. 

Within  reach  of  his  hand  gleamed  a  trophy  of  kandjars 
and  Arabian  cimeters.  He  was  muffled  up  in  a  long  dress- 
ing-gown of  black  velvet.  His  visage  was  gloomy;  and  he 
appeared  to  be  waiting  impatiently  for  Emmanuel  Philibert. 


However,  when  the  duke  was  announced,  this  expression  of 
impatience  disappeared  on  the  instant,  even  as  a  cloud  which 
darkens  the  brightness  of  the  day  disappears  at  the  touch  of 
the  north  wind. 

During  a  reign  of  forty  years,  the  Emperor  had  had  time 
to  learn  to  compose  his  countenance,  and  it  must  be  said 
that  none  was  more  skilful  in  this  art. 

Still,  at  the  first  glance  he  cast  on  the  Emperor,  Emman- 
uel understood  that  he  was  about  to  converse  with  him  on 
grave  matters. 

Charles  V.,  as  soon  as  he  perceived  his  nephew,  turned 
his  head  in  his  direction,  and,  making  an  effort  to  change 
his  position,  gave  him  a  friendly  greeting  with  head  and 

Emmanuel  Philibert  bowed  respectfully. 

The  Emperor  opened  the  conversation  in  Italian.  This 
sovereign,  who  regretted  all  his  life  not  to  know  Greek  and 
Latin,  spoke  equally  well  five  living  languages — Italian, 
Spanish,  French,  English  and  Flemish.  "I  learned  Ital- 
ian," he  said,  "to  speak  to  the  Pope;  Spanish  to  speak  to 
my  mother  Juana;  English  to  speak  to  my  aunt  Catherine; 
Flemish  to  speak  to  my  fellow-citizens  and  friends;  in  fine, 
French  to  speak  to  myself." 

Whatever  hurry  he  might  be  in  to  discuss  affairs  with 
those  he  summoned  near  him,  the  Emperor  always  began 
by  saying  a  few  words  in  their  own  language.  "Well," 
he  asked  in  Italian,  "what  news  from  the  camp?" 

"Sire,"  replied  Emmanuel,  employing  the  same  language 
that  Charles  Y.  used,  and  which,  for  that  matter,  was  his 
mother  tongue,  "news  which  your  Majesty  would  soon  learn, 
even  if  I  did  not  bring  it  myself.  This  news  is  that,  in  order 
to  have  my  title  and  authority  respected,  I  have  been  forced 
to  make  a  terrible  example. ' ' 

"A  terrible  example!"  vaguely  answered  the  Emperor, 
who  had  already  become  absorbed  in  his  own  thoughts; 
"and  what  was  it?" 

Emmanuel  Philibert  began  the  recital  of  what  took  place 


between  him  and  Count  Wai  deck ;  but  important  as  was  the 
narrative,  it  was  evident  the  Emperor  was  only  listening  with. 
his  ears:  his  mind  was  elsewhere. 

"Well?"  said  Charles  V.,  for  the  third  time,  when  Em- 
manuel Philibert  had  finished. 

Plunged,  as  he  was,  in  his  own  thoughts,  he  had  in  all 
probability  not  heard  a  single  word  of  the  report  which  his 
general  had  made  him/ 

In  fact,  during  all  the  time  the  narrative  lasted,  the 
Emperor,  doubtless  to  hide  his  preoccupation,  was  looking 
at  the  fingers  of  his  right  hand,  twisted  and  deformed  by 
the  gout. 

That  was  the  true  enemy  of  Charles  V. — a  far  deadlier 
enemy  than  Soliman  or  Frangois  I.  or  Henri  II.  ! 

The  gout  and  Luther  were  the  two  enemies  that  troubled 
him  incessantly ;  so  he  placed  them  both  in  the  same  rank. 

' '  Ah !  except  for  Luther  and  the  gout, ' '  he  would  some- 
times say,  taking  a  fistful  of  his  red  beard  as  he  descended 
from  his  horse,  exhausted  by  some  long  march  or  some  ter- 
rible battle — "except  for  Luther  and  the  gout,  how  I  should 
sleep  to-night!" 

There  was  a  moment's  silence  between  the  narrative  of 
Emmanuel  Philibert  and  the  resumption  of  the  conversation 
by  the  Emperor. 

At  last,  the  latter,  turning  to  his  nephew — 

"I,  too,  have  news  to  give  you,  and  bad  news!" 

"From  where,  august  emperor?" 

"From  Kome." 

"Is  the  Pope  elected?" 


"And  his  name?" 

"Peter  Caraffa.  The  one  he  replaces,  Emmanuel,  was 
just  my  own  age,  born  the  same  year — Marcellus  II.  Poor 
Marcellus!  Does  not  his  death  tell  me  to  prepare  to  die?" 

"Sire,"  said  Emmanuel,  "I  do  not  think  you  ought  to 
allow  your  mind  to  dwell  on  this  event,  or  to  judge  the 
death  of  Marcellus  from  the  standpoint  of  an  ordinary 


death.  Marcello  Cervino,  the  cardinal,  was  healthy,  ro- 
bust, and  might  perhaps  have  lived  a  hundred  years. 
Cardinal  Marcello  Cervino,  become  Pope  Marcellus  II., 
died  in  twenty  days!" 

"Yes,  I  know,"  replied  Charles  V.,  pensively;  "he 
was  also  in  too  great  a  hurry  to  be  pope.  He  had  him- 
self crowned  with  the  tiara  on  Good  Friday ;  that  is  to  say, 
on  the  day  on  which  our  Lord  was  crowned  with  thorns. 
It  brought  him  misfortune.  So  I  am  less  preoccupied  by 
his  death  than  by  the  election  of  Paul  IV." 

4 '  And  yet,  if  I  am  not  mistaken, ' '  replied  Emmanuel, 
"Paul  IV.  is  a  Neapolitan;  that  is  to  say,  a  subject  of 
your  Majesty." 

"Yes,  undoubtedly.  But  I  have  always  had  bad  reports 
of  this  cardinal,  and  while  he_was  at  the  court  of  Spain  I 
have  had  personal  reasons  to  complain  of  him.  Ah!"  con- 
tinued Charles  V.,  with  an  expression  of  utter  weariness, 
"I  shall  have  to  begin  again  with-  him  the  struggle  I  have 
sustained  for  twenty  years  with  his  predecessors,  and  I  am 
at  the  end  of  my  strength. ' ' 

"Oh,  sire!" 

Charles  V.  fell  into  a  kind  of  revery,  from  which  he 
emerged  almost  immediately. 

"For  that  matter,"  he  added,  as  if  speaking  to  himself, 
and  with  a  sigh,  "perhaps  he  will  deceive  me  as  the  other 
popes  have  deceived  me.  They  are  always  the  very  reverse 
of  what  they  were  as  cardinals.  I  thought  the  Medicis 
Clement  VII.  a  man  of  peaceful  spirit,  firm  and  constant; 
good!  No  sooner  is  he  pope  than  I  find  I  have  been  mis- 
taken on  all  points;  he  is  a  restless,  turbulent,  variable 
spirit.  On  the  other  hand,  I  imagined  Julius  III.  would 
neglect  business  for  pleasure,  and  would  be  engrossed  in 
diversions  and  amusements.  Peccato!  there  never  has  been 
a  more  industrious  and  diligent  pope,  or  one  caring  less  for 
the  joys  of  this  world.  What  work  he  cut  out  for  us,  he 
and  Cardinal  Pole,  in  connection  with  the  marriage  of 
Philip  and  his  cousin  Mary  Tudor!  If  we  had  not  arrested 


that  madman  Pole  at  Augsburg,  who  knows  if  to-day  the 
marriage  would  have  been  consummated  ?  Ah,  poor  Mar- 
cellus!"  said  the  Emperor,  heaving  a  second  sigh,  still  more 
expressive  than  the  first,  "it  was  n°t  because  you  were 
crowned  on  Good  Friday  that  you  survived  your  enthron- 
ing only  twenty  days;  it  was  because  you  were  my  friend!" 

"Let  us  wait,  august  emperor,"  said  Emmanuel  Phili- 
bert:  "your  Majesty  acknowledges  that  you  have  been  de- 
ceived with  regard  to  Clement  VII.  and  Julius  III. ;  perhaps 
you  may  also  be  deceived  with  regard  to  Paul  IV." 

"G-od  grant  it!  but  I  doubt." 

A  noise  was  heard  at  the  door. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  demanded  Charles  V.,  impa- 
tiently. "I  gave  directions  that  I  was  to  be  disturbed  by 
nobody.  See,  Emmanuel,  what  is  wanted.  " 

The  duke  raised  the  tapestry  in  front  of  the  door,  ex- 
changed a  question  and  answer  with  the  persons  in  the 
neighboring  compartment,  and,  turning  toward  the  em- 

"Sire,"  said  he,  "it  is  a  courier  from  Spain,  from  Tor- 
desillas. " 

' '  Let  him  enter ;  news  of  my  good  mother,  no  doubt. ' '  • 

The  messenger  appeared. 

"Yes.  Have  you  not  news  of  my  mother  ?"  said  Charles 
V. ,  addressing  the  messenger  in  Spanish. 

The  messenger,  without  answering,  tendered  a  letter  to 
Emmanuel  Philibert,  who  took  it  from  his  hand. 

"Give  it  to  me,  Emmanuel;  give  it  to  me!"  said  the 
Emperor.  "And  she  is  well,  is  she  not?" 

The  messenger  continued  to  keep  silence.  Emmanuel, 
on  his  side,  hesitated  to  give  the  letter  to  Charles  V. :  it  had 
a  black  seal ;  Charles  V.  saw  the  seal,  and  shuddered. 

"Ah!"  he  said,  "you  see  the  election  of  Paul  IV.  brings 
me  misfortune  already.  Give  it  to  me,"  he  continued,  hold- 
ing out  his  hand  to  Emmanuel. 

Emmanuel  obeyed;  to  have  delayed  longer  would  have 
been  puerile. 


"August  sovereign,"  said  he,  on  handing  over  the  letter, 
"remember,  you  are  a  man!" 

"  Yes, "  replied  Charles  V. ;  "that  is  what  they  used  to  say 
to  the  Eoman  generals  who  were  honored  with  triumphs. ' ' 

And,  trembling,  he  opened  the  letter. 

It  contained  only  a  few  lines;  yet  to  read  it  he  had  to 
return  to  it  two  or  three  times. 

The  tears  hindered  him  from  seeing;  his  eyes,  worn  and 
parched  by  ambition,  were  themselves  astonished  at  this 
miracle;  they  had  again  found  tears. 

When  he  had  finished,  he  handed  the  letter  to  Em- 
manuel Philibert,  who  took  it  from  him,  and  fell  back  on 
the  divan. 

"Dead!"  he  said— "dead  on  the  13th  of  April,  1555,  the 
very  day  Peter  Caraffa  was  named  pope !  Ah !  my  son,  did 
I  not  tell  you  this  man  would  bring  me  misfortune  ?" 

Emmanuel  had  cast  his  eyes  over  the  letter.  It  was 
signed  by  the  royal  notary  of  Tordesillas;  it,  in  fact,  an- 
nounced the  death  of  Juana  of  Castile,  mother  of  Charles 
Y.,  better  known  in  history  by  the  name  of  Juana  the  -Mad. 

He  remained  a  moment  motionless  in  presence  of  this 
great  sorrow,  which  he  did  not  know  how  to  deal  with,  for 
Charles  Y.  adored  his  mother. 

"Augustus,"  he  murmured  at  last,  "remember  all  you 
had  the  goodness  to  say  to  me  when  I  also  had  the  mis- 
fortune, two  years  ago,  to  lose  my  father. ' ' 

"Yes,  yes,  such  things  are  said,"  returned  the  Emperor, 
"good  reasons  are  found  for  the  consolation  of  others,  and 
then,  when  our  turn  comes,  we  are  powerless  to  console 

"And  so  1  do  not  console  you,  Augustus,"  said  Em- 
manuel; "on  the  contrary,  I  say,  Weep,  weep,  for  you  are 
only  a  man!" 

"What  a  painful  life  was  hers,  Emmanuel!"  said  Charles 
Y.  "In  1496  she  marries  my  father,  Philip  the  Fair;  she 
adored  him !  In  1506  he  dies,  poisoned  from  drinking  a 
glass  of  water  while  playing  tennis;  she  becomes  mad  with 


grief.  For  ten  years  she  awaited  the  resurrection  of  her 
husband,  which  a  Carthusian  monk  had  promised  her  in 
order  to  console  her;  and  for  ten  years  she  never  left  Tor- 
desillas,  except  when,  in  1516,  she  came  to  me  at  Villa- 
Viciosa,  and  with  her  own  hands  placed  the  crown  of  Spain 
on  my  head.  Mad  with  the  love  which  she  had  had  for  her 
husband,  she  only  recovered  her  reason  when  she  had  to 
occupy  herself  with  her  son.  Poor  mother!  All  my  reign 
will  at  least  bear  witness  to  the  respect  I  had  for  her. 
Nothing  of  importance  has  been  done  in  Spain  for  the  last 
forty  years  without  her  advice  on  the  matter  being  taken — 
not  that  she  was  always  in  a  condition  to  give  it;  but  it  was 
my  duty  as  a  son  to  act  thus,  and  I  fulfilled  it.  Do  you 
know  that,  though  a  Spaniard,  and  a  good  Spaniard  at 
that,  she  came  to  Flanders  for  her  accouchement,  in  order 
that  I  might  be  one  day  emperor  in  place  of  my  grandfather 
Maximilian?  Do  you  know  that,  although  the  best  of 
mothers,  she  renounced  the  privilege  of  suckling  me,  lest, 
being  nourished  by  her  milk,  I  might  be  accused  of  being 
too  Spanish  ?  And,  in  fact,  the  two  principal  titles  to  which 
I  owe  the  imperial  crown  are  being  a  foster-child  of  Anne 
Sterel,  and  being  a  citizen  of  Ghent.  Well,  from  before  my 
birth,  my  mother  had  foreseen  all  this.  And  what  can  I  do 
for  her  after  her  death— order  for  her  a  splendid  funeral  ? 
She  will  have  it.  But,  in  truth,  to  be  Emperor  of  Germany, 
King  of  Spain,  Naples,  Sicily,  and  the  two  Indias,  to  have 
an  empire  on  which,  according  to  my  flatterers,  the  sun 
never  sets,  and  to  be  able  to  do  nothing  for  one's  mother 
except  to  give  her  a  splendid  funeral!  Ah,  Emmanuel, 
the  power  of  the  most  powerful  man  is  very  limited 

At  this  moment  the  hangings  at  the  door  of  the  tent 
were  raised  anew;  and,  through  the  opening,  an  officer  was 
seen,  all  covered  with  dust,  and  seeming  also  to  be  the 
bearer  of  urgent  news. 

The  expression  on  the  Emperor's  countenance  was  so  sad 
that  the  usher,  who  had  ventured  to  disregard  the  counter- 


sign  in  view  of  the  importance  of  the  news  brought  by  the 
third  messenger,  and  to  enter  the  cabinet  of  Charles  V., 
stopped  short. 

"Enter!"  said  Charles,  in  Flemish;  "what  is  the 

"Sire,"  said  the  messenger,  "King  Henri  II.  has  opened 
a  campaign  at  the  head  of  three  armies:  the  first,  com- 
manded* by  himself,  having  under  his  orders  Conne'table 
Montmorency;  the  second,  commanded  by  Marechal  de 
Saint- Andre,  and  the  third  commanded  by  the  Due  de 
Nevers. " 

"And  what  next?"  asked  the  Emperor. 

"Next,  sire,  the  King  of  France  has  laid  siege  to  Marien- 
bourg,  and  taken  it;  he  is  now  marching  on  Bouvines. " 

"And  on  what  day  did  he  lay  siege  to  Marienbourg  ?" 
said  Charles. 

"On  the  13th  of  April  last,  sire." 

Charles  Y.  turned  round  to  Emmanuel  Philibert. 

"Well,"  he  asked  him  in  French,  "what  do  you  say  of 
the  date,  Emmanuel?" 

"A  fatal  date,  indeed!"  replied  the  latter. 

"That  is  sufficient,"  said  Charles  V.  to  the  messenger; 
4 'leave  us." 

Then,  to  the  usher — 

"Take  as  much  care  of  that  captain  as  if  he  brought  us 
good  news,"  said  the  emperor.  "Go!" 

This  time  Emmanuel  Philibert  did  not  wait  for  the  Em- 
peror to  .question  him.  Before  even  the  hangings  fell  again, 
he  began — 

"Luckily,"  said  he,  "if  we  can  do  nothing,  august  em- 
peror, against  the  election  of  Paul  IV. :  if  we  can  do  noth- 
ing against  the  death  of  your  beloved  mother — we  can  do 
something  against  the  taking  of  Marienbourg." 

"And  what  can  we  do?" 

"Take  it  back  again!" 

"Yes,  you  may,  not  I,  Emmanuel." 

"Why  not  you?"  said  the  Prince  of  Piedmont 


Charles  V.  raised  himself  from  the  divan,  and,  drawing 
himself  up  with  difficulty,  attempted  to  walk;  but  he  could 
only  take  a  few  steps,  limping. 

He  shook  his  head,  and,  turning  to  his  nephew — 

"See,  look  at  my  legs,"  he  said:  "they  no  longer  sus- 
tain me  now,  either  on  foot  or  horseback;  look  at  my  hands; 
they  can  no  longer  hold  a  sword.  There  is  a  saying,  Em- 
manuel, that  he  who  can  no  longer  hold  a  sword  can  no 
longer  hold  a  sceptre." 

"What  are  you  saying,  sire?"  exclaimed  Emmanuel, 

' l  A  thing  of  which  I  have  often  thought,  and  of  which 
I  shall  think  again.  Emmanuel,  everything  warns  me  that 
it  is  time  to  leave  my  place  to  another:  the  surprise  of  Inns- 
pruck,  from  which  I  had  to  fly  half -naked;  the  retreat  of 
Metz,  where  I  left  the  third  of  rny  army  and  the  half  of  my 
reputation;  yet,  more  than  all  that,  look  you,  this  disease 
which  human  strength  cannot  long  resist ;  this  disease  which 
medicine  cannot  cure;  this  frightful,  inexorable,  cruel  dis- 
ease, which  invades  the  body  from  the  crown  of  the  head 
to  the  soles  of  the  feet,  which  contracts  the  nerves  with 
intolerable  pains,  which  penetrates  the  bones,  freezes  the 
marrow,  and  converts  into  solid  chalk  .the  beneficent  oil 
spread  through  our  joints  to  facilitate  their  movements; 
this  disease,  which  mutilates  a  man  lirnb  by  limb  more 
cruelly,  more  surely,  than  does  steel  or  fire  or  all  the  im- 
plements of  war,  and  which  breaks  the  strength  and  serenity 
of  the  soul  under  the  tortures  of  matter — this  disease  is  in- 
cessantly crying  out  to  rne:  'You  have  had  enough  of  power, 
enough  of  sovereignty !  Return  into  the  nothingness  of  life 
before  returning  into  the  nothingness  of  the  tomb !  Charles, 
by  the  grace  of  God,  Emperor  of  the  Romans,  Charles,  King 
of  Germany,  Castile,  Leon,  Granada,  Aragon,  Naples,  Sicily, 
Majorca,  Sardinia,  and  the  islands  and  Indias  of  both  oceans, 
make  way  for  another,  for  another!'  ' 
Emmanuel  wished  to  speak. 
The  Emperor  arrested  him  by  a  gesture. 


"And  then,  and  then,"  continued  Charles  V.,  "there  is 
another  thing  I  had  forgotten  to  tell  you !  As  if  the  disso- 
lution of  this  poor  body  was  too  slow  for  the  wishes  of  my 
enemies,  as  if  defeats  and  heresies  and  the  gout  were  not 
sufficient,  the  poniard  has  come  to  play  a  part  in  the 

"How,  the  poniard?"  exclaimed  Emmanuel. 

The  face  of  Charles  V.  was  overcast. 

"An  attempt  was  made  to  assassinate  me  to-day, "  he  said. 

"An  attempt  to  assassinate  your  Majesty?"  cried  Em- 
manuel, terrified. 

"Why  not?"  replied  the  Emperor,  with  a  smile.  "Have 
you  not  just  now  reminded  me  that  I  was  a  man  ?" 

"Oh!"  cried  .Emmanuel,  scarcely  recovering  from  the 
emotion  this  intelligence  had  caused  him;  "and  who  is 
the  wretch?" 

"Ah!  yes,  indeed!"  said  the  Emperor.  "Who  is  the 
wretch?  I  hold  the  poniard,  but  not  the  hand!" 

"In  fact,"  said  Emmanuel,  "I  just  now  saw  a  man 
bound  in  the  antechamber — " 

"That  is  the  wretch,  as  you  call  him,  Emmanuel.  But 
who  has  employed  him  ?  The  Turk  ?  I  do  not  believe  so ; 
Soliman  is  a  loyal  enemy.  Henri  II.  ?  I  do  not  even  sus- 
pect him.  Paul  IV.?  He  has  not  been  long  enough  elected; 
and  then  the  popes — they  generally  prefer  poison  to  the 
dagger:  Ecclesia,  abhorret  a  sanguine.  Octavio  Farnese  ?  He 
is  too  paltry  a  person  to  venture  on  attacking  me — the  im- 
perial bird  that  Maurice  did  not  dare  to  take,  not  being 
acquainted,  he  said,  with  a  cage  large  enough  to  hold  him. 
The  Lutherans  of  Augsburg  or  the  Calvinists  of  Geneva  ? 
I  am  altogether  puzzled:  and  yet  I  should  like  to  know — 
Listen,  Emmanuel,  this  man  has  refused  to  answer  my  ques- 
tions; take  him  into  your  tent  and  question  him  in  your 
turn.  Do  with  him  wh'atever  you  please;  I  give  him  to 
you.  But  understand  well — he  must  be  made  to  speak. 
The  nearer  the  enemy  is  to  me,  and  the  more  powerful  he 
is,  the  greater  need  I  have  to  know  him. ' ' 


Then,  after  a  moment's  pause,  lie  fixed  his  gaze  on  Em- 
manuel Philibert,  who  held  his  eyes  pensively  bent  toward 
the  ground. 

"By  the  way,"  he  said,  "your  cousin  Philip  has  arrived 
at  Brussels. ' ' 

The  transition  was  so  abrupt  that  Emmanuel  started. 
He  raised  his  head,  and  his  glance  met  that  of  the  Emperor. 
This  time  he  shuddered. 

"Well?"   he  asked. 

' '  Well, ' '  returned  Charles,  ' '  I  shall  be  happy  to  see  my 
son  again.  Would  you  not  say  that  he  guesses  the  hour 
is  come  and  the  moment  favorable  for  him  to  succeed  me  ? 
But  before  I  see  him  again,  Emmanuel,  I  recommend  my 
assassin  to  you. ' ' 

"In  an  hour,"  replied  Emmanuel,  "your  Majesty  shall 
know  all  you  desire  to  know. ' ' 

And,  bowing  to  the  Emperor,  who  offered  him  his  muti- 
lated hand,  Emmanuel  Philibert  withdrew,  convinced  that 
the  thing  of  which  Charles  Y.  had  spoken  to  him  as  if  it 
were  a  mere  casual  remark  introduced  into  the  conversa- 
tion, was,  of  all  the  events  of  the  day,  the  one  to  which  he 
attached  the  most  importance. 



ON  RETIRING-,  Emmanuel  Philibert  cast  a  fresh  look 
on  the  prisoner,  and  this  look  confirmed  him  in  his 
first  idea;  that  is  to  say,  that  he  was  going  to  deal 
with  a  gentleman.     He  made  a  sign  to  the  leader  of  the  four 
soldiers  to  approach  him. 

"My  friend,"  he  said,  "in  five  minutes  you  will,  by  order 
of  the  Emperor,  conduct  this  man  into  my  tent. ' ' 

Emmanuel  might  have  dispensed  with  naming  Charles 
V. :  it  was  known  that  the  latter  had  delegated  to  him  all 


his  powers;  and,  in  general,  the  soldiers,  who  worshipped 
him,  would  have  obeyed  him  as  they  would  have  obeyed 
the  Emperor  himself. 

' '  Your  order  shall  be  executed,  your  Highness, ' '  replied 
the  sergeant. 

The  duke  resumed  the  road  to  his  lodgings. 

The  tent  of  Emmanuel  was  not,  like  that  of  the  Emperor, 
a  splendid  pavilion,  divided  into  four  compartments ;  it  was 
the  tent  of  a  soldier  cut  in  two  by  a  piece  of  mere  canvas. 

Scianca-Ferro  was  seated  at  the  door. 

"Kemain  where  you  are,"  said  Emmanuel  to  him;  "but 
take  some  weapon  or  other. ' ' 

"Why?"  asked  Scianca-Ferro. 

' '  A  man  is  about  to  be  brought  hither  who  has  attempted 
to  assassinate  the  Emperor.  I  intend  to  question  him  with- 
out any  witnesses.  Look  well  at  him  when  he  enters;  and, 
if  he  attempts  to  violate  the  pledge,  which  he  will  doubtless 
give,  by  trying  to  escape,  stop  him — but  living,  you  under- 
stand ?  It  is  important  that  he  live ! ' ' 

"Then,"  said  Scianca-Ferro,  "I  do  not  need  weapons; 
my  arms  are  sufficient. ' ' 

"  Do  as  you  like ;  you  are  warned. ' ' 

1 '  Do  not  be  disturbed  about  the  matter, ' '  said  Scianca- 

The  prince  entered  his  tent,  and  found  Leone,  or  rather 
Leona,  waiting  for  him.  As  he  returned  alone,  and  as  the 
curtain  of  his  tent  fell  behind  him,  Leona  came  to  meet  him 
with  open  arms. 

' l  You  are  here  at  last,  my  love !  My  God !  what  a  terri- 
ble scene  was  that  at  which  we  have  been  present !  Alas ! 
you  were  quite  right  in  telling  me  that  my  emotion  and 
paleness  would  lead  one  to  take  me  for  a  woman." 

"What  would  you  have,  Leona?  These  are  ordinary 
scenes  in  the  life  of  a  soldier,  and  you  ought  to  be  accus- 
tomed to  them  by  this  time."  Then,  smiling,  "Look  at 
Scianca-Ferro,  and  take  him  for  your  model,"  he  added. 

"How  can  you  utter  such  words  as  those  with  a  smile, 


Emmanuel?  Scianca-Ferro  is  a  man:  he  loves  you  as  much 
as  a  man  can  love  a  man,  as  I  well  know;  but  I  love  you, 
Emmanuel,  to  a  degree  that  cannot  be  expressed,  as  some- 
thing without  which  one  no  longer  lives !  I  love  you  as  the 
flower  loves  the  dew,  as  the  bird  loves  the  forest,  as  the 
dawn  loves  the  sun.  With  you  1  live,  exist,  and  love; 
without  you  I  am  no  more ! ' ' 

"My  own  darling,"  said  Emmanuel,  "yes,  I  know  you 
are  at  the  same  time  grace,  devotion,  and  love;  I  know  that 
you  move  beside  me,  but  that  it  is  really  in  me  that  you 
live,  and  so  for  you  I  have  no  mysteries  or  secrets. ' ' 

"Why  do  you  say  this?" 

"Because  a  man  is  about  to  be  brought  hither;  because 
this  man  is  a  great  criminal  whom  I  wish  to  question;  be- 
cause he  will  perhaps  make  important  revelations — who 
knows  ? — revelations  that  may  compromise  the  highest 
personages.  Pass  to  that  side  of  the  tent.  Listen  if  you 
wish;  whatever  I  hear  will,  I  know,  be  heard  by  myself 
alone. ' ' 

Leona  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "Except  you, "  she  said, 
"what  is  the  rest  of  the  world  to  me  ?" 

And  the  young  girl,  sending  a  caress  to  her  lover  with 
her  hand,  disappeared  behind  the  curtain. 

It  was  time ;  the  five  minutes  were  passed,  and,  with  the 
usual  military  punctuality,  the  sergeant  arrived,  conducting 
his  prisoner. 

Emmanuel  received  him  seated,  and  half  lost  in  the 
shadow.  From  the  midst  of  this  shadow  he  cast  a  third 
look,  deeper  and  more  prolonged,  on  the  prisoner. 

He  was  a  young  man  of  from  thirty  to  thirty-five.  His 
stature  was  so  lofty  and  his  face  so  distinguished  that  his 
disguise,  as  we  have  said,  had  not  prevented  Emmanuel 
Philibert  from  recognizing  him  as  a  gentleman. 

"Leave  the  gentleman  alone  with  me,"  said  the  prince 
to  the  sergeant. 

The  sergeant  could  only  obey;  he  went  out  with  his 
three  men. 


The  prisoner  fixed  his  keen  and  piercing  eye  on  Em- 
manuel Philibert. 

The  latter  rose,  and  went  straight  up  to  him.  "Sir," 
said  he,  "those  people  did  not  know  with  whom  they  had 
to  do,  and  so  they  have  bound  you.  You  are  going  to  give 
me  your  word  of  honor  not  to  attempt  to  escape,  and  I  am 
going  to  untie  your  hands. ' ' 

"lam  a  peasant,  and  not  a  gentleman,"  said  the  mur- 
derer; "I  cannot,  consequently,  give  you  my  word  of  honor 
as  a  gentleman. ' ' 

' '  If  you  are  a  peasant,  that  word  of  honor  does  not  bind 
you  to  anything.  Give  it  to  me,  then,  since  it  is  the  only 
pledge  I  require  of  you. ' ' 

The  prisoner  did  not  answer. 

"Then,"  said  Emmanuel,  "I  will  untie  your  hands  with- 
out the  word  of  honor.  I  do  not  fear  to  find  myself  alone 
with  a  man,  even  though  that  man  had  no  honor  to  pledge!" 

And  the  prince  began  untying  the  hands  of  the  unknown. 

The  latter  took  a  step  backward.  "Wait,"  he  said;  "on 
the  faith  of  a  gentleman,  I  shall  not  attempt  to  escape!" 

"Come,  now,"  said  Emmanuel,  smiling,  "what  the  mis- 
chief!  dogs,  horses,  and  men  know  each  other;"  and  he 
finished  loosening  the  cord.  "There!  you  are  free;  now 
let  us  talk." 

The  prisoner  gazed  coldly  on  his  bruised  hands,  and  let 
them  fall  by  his  side.  "Talk?"  he  repeated,  with  irony; 
"and  of  what?" 

"Why,"  replied  Emmanuel  Philibert,  "of  the  cause  that 
led  you  to  this  crime. ' ' 

"I  have  said  nothing,"  replied  the  unknown,  "and  I 
have  nothing  to  say." 

"You  have  said  nothing  to  the  Emperor,  whom  you 
wished  to  kill,  that  is  conceivable;  you  said  nothing  to 
the  soldiers  who  arrested  you,  that  I  can  easily  understand ; 
but  to  me,  a  gentleman  who  treats  you,  not  as  a  vulgar 
assassin,  but  as  a  gentleman — to  me  you  will  tell  every- 


"For  what  good?" 

' '  For  what  good  ?  I  am  about  to  tell  you :  because  I  do 
not  regard  you  as  a  man  paid  by  some  coward  who  has 
placed  your  arm  at  the  end  of  his  own,  not  daring  to  strike 
himself.  For  what  good  ?  Because  you  must  not  be  hanged 
as  some  thief  or  lurking  assassin,  but  decapitated  as  a  noble 
and  a  lord. ' ' 

' '  They  have  threatened  to  torture  me  to  make  me  speak, ' ' 
said  the  prisoner;  "let  them  do  it!" 

"Torture  would  be  a  useless  cruelty;  you  would  un- 
dergo it  and  you  would  not  speak;  you  would  be  muti- 
lated, and  not  vanquished;  you  would  keep  your  secrext 
and  leave  the  shame  to  your  tormentors.  No,  that  is 
not  what  I  want;  I  want  you  to  speak  to  me,  a  gentle- 
man and  a  prince,  as  you  would  speak  to  a  priest.  And  if 
you  judge  it  unsafe  to  speak  to  me,  it  is  because  you  are 
one  of  those  wretches  with  whom  I  did  not  wish  to  confound 
you ;  it  is  because  you  have  acted  under  the  influence  of  a 
base  passion  you  dare  not  avow;  it  is  because — " 

The  prisoner  drew  himself  up  to  his  full  height,  and,  in- 
terrupting, said: 

"My  name  is  Odoardo  Maraviglia,  monsieur!  Eevive 
your  recollections,  and  stop  insulting  me." 

At  this  name  of  Odoardo  Maraviglia,  Emmanuel  thought 
he  heard  a  stifled  cry  in  the  other  compartment  of  the  tent; 
what  he  was  sure  of  was  that  tlje  canvas  that  divided  it  trem- 
bled, as  if  something  had  set  it  in  motion. 

On  his  part,  Emmanuel  felt  something  vibrate  strongly  in 
his  memory  at  the  sound  of  that  name.  In  fact,  that  name 
had  served  as  a  pretext  for  the  war  which  had  deprived  him 
of  his  states. 

"Odoardo  Maraviglia!"  he  said.  "Are  you  the  son  of 
Francesco  Maraviglia,  the  French  ambassador  at  Milan?" 

"I  am  his  son." 

Emmanuel  concentrated  his  thoughts  on  the  distant  rec- 
ollections of  his  boyhood ;  he  found  that  name  among  them, 
but  it  threw  no  light  on  the  present  situation. 

(6)_Yol.  20 


''Your  name,"  he  said,  "is  surely  the  name  of  a  gentle- 
man; but  it  does  not  recall  any  memory  connected  with  the 
crime  of  which  you  are  accused. ' ' 

Odoardo  smiled  disdainfully. 

"Ask  the  most  august  emperor,"  said  he,  "if  there  is  the 
same  obscurity  in  his  memory  that  there  is  in  yours. ' ' 

"Excuse  me,  sir,"  returned  Emmanuel;  "at  the  time 
when  Comte  Francesco  de  Maraviglia  disappeared  I  was  still 
a  child;  I  was  hardly  eight  years  old.  It  is  not  astonish- 
ing, then,  that  I  was  ignorant  of  a  disappearance  which,  as 
I  think  I  can  recall,  remained  a  mystery  for  everybody." 

' '  Well,  monseigneur,  I  am  about  to  throw  some  light  on 
this  mystery.  You  know  what  a  wretched  prince  was  the 
last  Sforza,  eternally  wavering  between  Frangois  I.  and 
Charles  V.,  according  as  the  genius  of  victory  favored  the 
one  or  the  other.  My  father,  Francesco  Maraviglia,  was  ap- 
pointed envoy  extraordinary  to  him  by  Frangois  I.  This 
was  in  1534.  The  Emperor  was  occupied  in  Africa;  the 
Duke  of  Saxony,  the  ally  of  Frangois,  had  just  made  peace 
with  the  King  of  the  Romans;  Clement  VII.,  another  ally 
of  France,  had  just  excommunicated  Henry  VIII. ,  King  of 
England.  Everything  turned  to  the  detriment  of  the  Em- 
peror in  Italy.  Sforza,  who  still  owed  four  hundred  thou- 
sand ducats,  turned,  like  every  one  else,  and  intrusted  all 
his  political  fortunes  to  the  envoy  extraordinary  of  King 
Frangois  I.  It  was  a  great  triumph.  Francesco  Maraviglia 
had  the  imprudence  to  boast  of  it.  The  words  he  spoke 
crossed  the  seas,  and  startled  Charles  V.  in  presence  of  the 
Turks.  Alas!  fortune  is  fickle.  Two  months  after,  Clem- 
ent VII. ,  who  was  the  strength  of  the  French  in  Italy,  died ; 
Tunis  was  taken  by  Charles  V.,  and  the  Emperor,  with  his 
victorious  army,  landed  in  Italy.  An  expiatory  victim  was 
necessary.  Francesco  Maraviglia  was  marked  by  fate  to  be 
that  victim.  In  a  quarrel  between  the  servants  of  Comte 
Maraviglia  and  some  of  the  rabble  of  Milan,  two  of  the  lat- 
ter happened  to  be  slain.  The  duke  only  wanted  a  pretext 
for  keeping  his  promise  to  the  august  emperor.  The  man 


who  for  a  year  had  been  more  powerful  in  Milan  than  the 
duke  himself  was  arrested  as  a  vulgar  malefactor,  and  con- 
ducted to  the  citadel.  My  mother  was  present;  she  had 
with  her  my  sister,  a  child  four  years  old.  I  was  in  Paris, 
at  the  Louvre ;  I  was  one  of  the  pages  of  Fra^ois  I.  The 
count  was  torn  from  the  arms  of  my  mother ;  he  was  dragged 
away  without  the  poor  woman  being  told  what  he  was  charged 
with,  or  where  he  was  being  taken.  Eight  days  passed,  dur- 
ing which,  despite  all  their  efforts,  the  countess  could  dis- 
cover nothing  as  to  the  fate  of  her  husband.  Maraviglia 
was  known  to  be  immensely  rich;  his  wife  was  able  to  pur- 
chase his  liberty  at  his  weight  in  gold.  One  night  a  man 
knocked  at  the  door  of  my  mother's  palace;  it  was  opened 
for  him;  he  asked  to  speak  to  the  countess  without  wit- 
nesses. ETery  thing  was  of  importance  under  the  circum- 
stances. Through  the  agency  of  friends  and  Frenchmen 
my  mother  spread  a  report  through  the  city  that  she  would 
give  five  hundred  ducats  to  whoever  would  tell  her  where 
my  father  was.  Probably  this  man,  who  desired  to  speak 
to  her  alone,  was  bringing  news  of  the  count,  and,  fearing 
betrayal,  wished,  by  excluding  witnesses,  to  insure  secrecy. 

"She  was  not  mistaken;  this  man  was  one  of  the  jailers 
of  the  fortress  of  Milan,  where  my  father  was  imprisoned. 
Not  only  did  he  come  to  tell  where  my  father  was,  but  he 
brought  a  letter  from  him.  On  recognizing  her  husband's 
handwriting,  she  counted  out  the  five  hundred  ducats. 

"The  letter  of  my  father  announced  his  arrest,  and  that 
he  had  been  placed  in  solitary  confinement,  but  did  not 
express  any  keen  anxiety  as  to  the  result.  My  mother,  in 
her  reply,  told  her  husband  to  dispose  of  her;  her  life  and 
fortune  were  his.  Five  days  passed.  In  the  middle  of  the 
night  the  same  man  knocked  at  the  palace;  it  was  opened, 
and  he  was  immediately  introduced  to  the  countess.  The 
situation  of  the  prisoner  had,  in  the  meantime,  been  aggra- 
vated. He  was  placed  in  another  dungeon,  and  his  confine- 
ment was  made  more  rigidly  secret. 

"  'His  life,'  said  the  jailer,  'was  in  peril.' 


"Did  this  man  want  to  extract  some  large  sum  from  the 
countess,  or  was  he  telling  the  truth  ?  Either  of  these  two 
hypotheses  might  be  correct.  But  fear  induced  my  mother 
to  adopt  the  latter.  Moreover,  she  questioned  the  jailer, 
and  his  replies,  while  giving  evidence  of  cupidity,  also  bore 
the  impress  of  frankness. 

"She  gave  him  the  same  sum  as  on  the  first  occasion, 
and  told  him  at  all  hazards  to  form  some  plan  for  the 
count's  escape.  As  soon  as  such  a  plan  was  arranged,  he 
would  receive  a  sum  of  five  thousand  ducats;  and,  once  the 
count  was  out  of  danger,  twenty  thousand  more  would  be 
handed  over  to  him. 

"It  was  a  fortune!  The  jailer  left  the  countess,  promis- 
ing to  think  over  what  he  had  just  heard.  The  countess, 
on  her  side,  made  inquiries  into  the  situation;  she  had 
friends  near  the  duke;  she  knew  through  them  that  the 
situation  was  even  worse  than  it  had  been  described  by 
the  jailer.  It  was  intended  to  prosecute  the  count  as  a 
spy.  She  awaited  impatiently  the  visit  of  the  jailer;  she 
did  not  even  know  his  name;  and,  even  though  she  knew 
it,  would  she  not  ruin  the  jailer  and  ruin  herself,  if  she  were 
rash  enough  to  inquire  after  him  ? 

"However,  one  thing  reassured  her  somewhat:  there  was 
to  be  a  prosecution.  What  accusation  could  they  bring 
against  my  father  ?  The  death  of  these  two  Milanese  ?  It 
was  an  affair  between  domestics  and  peasants,  with  which  a 
gentleman,  an  ambassador,  could  have  nothing  to  do.  But 
some  voices  said,  quite  low,  that  there  would  be  no  prosecu- 
tion ;  and  these  voices  were  the  most  sinister  of  all,  for  they 
let  it  be  understood  that  the  count  would  not  the  less  surely 
be  condemned  for  all  that.  At  last,  my  mother  was  startled 
one  night  by  the  noise  of  the  knocker  on  the  door;  she  was 
beginning  to  recognize  the  manner  in  which  her  nocturnal 
visitor  knocked;  she  awaited  him  on  the  threshold  of  her 
bedchamber.  He  addressed  her  with  even  more  mystery 
than  usual;  he  had  found  a  means  of  escape,  and  was  come 
to  propose  it  to  the  countess.  This  was  the  plan  he  adopted. 


"The  dungeon  of  the  prisoner  was  separated  from  the 
lodging  of  the  jailer  by  a  single  gallery,  opening  into  the 
dungeon  by  means  of  an  iron  door  barred  at  the  top.  The 
jailer  had  the  key  of  this  second  dungeon  as  well  as  of 
the  first.  He  proposed  to  bore  through  the  wall  behind 
his  bed,  at  a  spot  concealed  from  every  eye.  Through 
this  opening  he  would  enter  the  empty  cell,  and  from  there 
pass  into  the  count's  dungeon.  The  fetters  of  the  count 
knocked  off,  he  could  pass  from  his  dungeon  into  the 
neighboring  cell,  and  then  into  the  jailer's  room. 

"There  he  would  find  a  ladder  of  ropes,  by  the  aid  of 
which  he  would  descend  into  the  fosse,  at  the  darkest  and 
most  solitary  part  of  the  wall ;  a  carriage  would  wait  for  the 
count  a  hundred  yards  from  the  fosse,  and  would  carry  him 
out  of  the  duke's  states  with  all  the  speed  of  two  horses. 
The  plan  was  good;  the  countess  accepted  it,  but,  fearing 
some  deception  might  be  practiced  on  her  with  regard  to  the 
count,  and  she  might  be  told  he  was  saved  while  still  a  cap- 
tive, she  required  to  be  present  at  this  flight.  The  jailer 
objected  the  difficulty  of  introducing  her  into  the  fortress; 
but  by  a  single  word  the  countess  removed  this  difficulty. 
She  had  obtained  permission  for  herself  and  her  daughter 
to  see  her  husband — a  permission  she  had  not  yet  availed 
herself  of,  and  could  therefore  still  make  use  of  it.  On  the 
day  appointed  for  the  count's  flight,  she  would  enter  the  for- 
tress at  nightfall;  she  would  see  the  count;  then,  on  leaving 
him,  instead  of  quitting  the  fortress,  she  would  enter  the 
jailer's  room.  There  she  would  await  the  moment  for  the 
prisoner's  flight.  The  jailer,  who  would  depart  with  the  count, 
would  receive  from  the  latter  the  sum  agreed  on.  The  carriage 
awaiting  them  was  to  contain  a  hundred  thousand  ducats. 

"The  jailer  was  sincere  in  his  offers;  he  accepted.  The 
flight  was  arranged  for  the  day  after  the  next  day.  Before 
leaving,  the  jailer  received  his  five  thousand  ducats,  and 
indicated  the  place  where  the  carriage  was  to  be  stationed. 
The  care  of  this  carriage  was  confided  by  the  countess  to 
one  of  her  servants,  a  man  of  tried  fidelity. 


"But,  pardon,  monseigneur, "  said  Odoardo,  interrupting 
himself.  "I  forget  I  am  speaking  to  a  stranger,  and  that  all 
these  details,  full  of  emotion  and  life  for  me,  are  indifferent 
to  my  listener. ' ' 

"You  are  mistaken,  sir,"  said  Emmanuel;  "I  desire,  on 
the  contrary,  to  make  appeal  to  your  memory,  in  order  that 
I  myself  may  be  able  to  share  in  all  your  recollections. 
I  am  listening." 

Odoardo  continued: 

"The  two  days  passed  in  all  the  anguish  that  precedes 
the  execution  of  such  a  project.  One  thing,  however,  tran- 
quillized the  countess:  it  was  that  the  jailer  had  such  an 
overpowering  interest  in  the  success  of  the  enterprise;  a 
hundred  years'  fidelity  would  not  give  this  man  the  reward 
to  be  obtained  by  a  quarter  of  an  hour's  treason.  Ten  times 
the  countess  asked  herself  why  she  had  not  decided  on  mak- 
ing the  attempt  at  the  end  of  twenty- four  hours  instead  of 
at  the  end  of  forty- eight.  It  seemed  as  if  the  last  twenty- 
four  hours  would  never  end,  or  would  lead  to  some  catas- 
trophe that  would  upset  the  plan,  however  well  conceived 
and  ingenious  it  might  be.  The  time  swept  by,  measured 
by  the  hand  of  eternity.  The  hours  struck  with  their  ordi- 
nary impassibility.  At  last  that  one  arrived  that  was  to  tell 
her  the  moment  had  come  to  enter  the  prison.  In  presence 
of  the  countess,  the  carriage  was  laden  with  all  the  objects 
necessary  for  the  flight  of  the  count,  in  order  that  he  might 
not  be  forced  to  stop  on  the  route;  two  horses  had  been  led 
beyond  Pavia,  so  that  he  could  make  about  thirty  leagues 
without  any  delay.  At  eleven  o'clock  the  horses  would  be 
harnessed  to  the  carriage,  which  at  midnight  would  be  at 
the  spot  agreed  upon. 

"Once  out  of  danger,  the  fugitive  would  take  steps  to 
warn  the  countess,  and  the  latter  would  join  her  husband, 
wherever  he  might  be.  The  hour  struck.  Face  to  face 
with  the  moment  of  execution,  the  countess  now  thought 
it  had  come  very  soon.  She  took  her  little  daughter  by 
the  hand,  and  directed  her  course  toward  the  prison.  One 


fear  agitated  her  during  the  journey:  it  was  that  as  the 
permit  was  dated  eight  days  back,  she  might  be  refused 
entrance  to  the  prison. 

' '  The  countess  was  mistaken ;  she  was  introduced,  without 
any  difficulty,  to  the  prisoner.  The  reports  she  heard  were 
not  exaggerated;  and  the  manner  in  which  a  man  of  the 
count's  rank  was  treated  showed  there  could  be  no  illusion 
on  the  fate  that  awaited  him.  The  ambassador  of  France 
had  a  chain  on  his  foot,  as  if  he  were  a  vile  felon.  The 
interview  would  have  been  very  painful,  if  escape  had  not 
been  imminent  and  certain.  During  this  interview  all  that 
was  not  yet  arranged  was  finally  settled. 

"The  count  was  resolved  on  everything;  he  knew  he  had 
no  quarter  to  expect;  the  Emperor  had  positively  insisted 
on  his  death — " 

Emmanuel  Philibert  made  a  movement. 

"Are  you  sure  of  what  you  say,  sir  ?"  he  asked  severely. 
"Do  you  know  this  is  a  grave  accusation  you  are  making 
against  so  great  a  prince  as  the  Emperor  Charles  V.?" 

"Does  your  Highness  order  me  to  stop,  or  permit  me  to 

"Continue!    but  why  not  answer  my  question?" 

"Because  the  progress  of  my  narrative  will,  I  fancy, 
render  that  question  useless. ' ' 

"Continue,  then,  sir,"  said  Emmanuel  Philibert. 



MILAN     ON     THE     NIGHT     OF     THE     14TH     AND 

15TH     OF    NOVEMBER,     1534 

"\  FEW  minutes  after  nine,"  returned  Odoardo,  "the 
jailer  came  to  warn  the  countess  that  it  was  time  to 
withdraw.  The  sentries  were  about  to  be  changed, 
and  it  was  well  the  sentinel  who  had  seen  her  enter  should 
see  her  leave.  The  separation  was  cruel ;  and  yet  in  three 



hours  they  would  see  each  other  again,  never  more  to  be 
separated.  The  child  uttered  piteous  cries,  and  refused  to 
abandon  her  father.  The  countess  had  almost  to  tear  her 
from  his  arms.  They  passed  the  sentinel  again,  and  plunged 
into  the  darkest  depths  of  the  courtyard.  From  the  place 
where  they  were  they  gained,  with  infinite  precautions,  and 
without  being  seen,  the  house  of  the  jailer.  Once  there, 
the  countess  and  her  daughter  were  shut  up  in  a  cabinet, 
and  bidden  not  to  utter  a  single  word  or  make  a  single 
movement,  as  an  inspector  might  at  any  moment  enter  the 
jailer's  residence.  The  countess  and  her  child  kept  them- 
selves dumb  and  motionless.  One  hazardous  movement, 
one  whispered  word,  might  deprive  a  father  and  husband 
of  life. 

"The  three  hours  that  still  remained  till  midnight  ap- 
peared as  long  to  the  countess  as  the  forty- eight  hours  that 
had  slipped  by.  At  last  the  jailer  opened  the  door. 

"  'Come!'  he  said,  in  a  low  voice — a  voice  so  low  that 
the  countess  and  her  daughter  guessed  what  this  man  in- 
tended to  say,  rather  than  what  he  said. 

"The  mother  had  not  wished  to  leave  her  child,  in  order 
that  the  father,  on  escaping,  might  give  her  a  last  kiss.  Be- 
sides, there  are  moments  when,  for  an  empire,  one  would 
not  separate  from  those  one  loves. 

"Did  she  know  what  was  about  to  happen,  this  poor 
mother  who  was  fighting  for  the  life  of  her  husband  with 
his  executioners?  Might  she  also  not  be  forced  to  fly, 
either  with  her  husband,  or  on  her  own  account?  And 
if  she  had  to  fly,  could  she  part  with  her  child? 

"The  jailer  pushed  the  bed  aside;  an  opening  two  and 
a  half  feet  high  and  two  feet  wide  had  been  made  in  the 
wall  behind. 

"It  was  more  than  was  needed  for  all  the  prisoners  in 
the  fortress  to  escape,  one  after  another.  Preceded  by  the 
jailer,  the  mother  and  child  entered  the  first  dungeon. 
After  their  passage,  the  wife  of  the  jailer  replaced  the 
bed,  in  which  a  boy  of  four  years  was  sleeping.  The 


jailer,  as  I  have  said,  had  the  key  of  the  first  dungeon; 
he  opened  the  door  of  it,  having  first  taken  good  care  to 
oil  the  lock  and  the  bolts,  and  found  himself  in  the  dun- 
geon of  the  count.  The  latter  had  received,  an  hour  before, 
a  file  with  which  to  cut  through  his  chain;  but,  unaccus- 
tomed to  such  labor,  and,  besides,  fearing  to  be  heard  by 
the  sentry,  who  was  walking  in  the  corridor,  he  was  hardly 
half  through  the  work.  The  jailer  took  the  file  in  his  turn; 
and,  while  the  count  clasped  his  wife  and  child  in  his  arms, 
began  filing  the  chain.  Suddenly  he  lifted  his  head,  and 
remained  listening,  with  one  knee  on  the  ground,  his  body 
resting  on  the  hand  that  held  the  file,  and  the  other  hand 
extended  in  the  direction  of  the  door.  The  count  wished 
to  question  him. 

"  'Silence!'  he  said;  'something  unusual  is  passing  in 
the  fortress!' 

"  'Oh,  my  God!'  murmured  the  countess,  frightened. 

"  'Silence!'  repeated  the  jailer. 

' '  Every  one  was  silent ;  they  held  their  breath  as  if  they 
would  never  breathe  again.  These  four  individuals  resem- 
bled a  group  of  bronze,  representing  all  the  shades  of  fear, 
from  astonishment  to  terror.  A  slow  and  deep  noise  was 
heard,  increasing  as  it  approached.  It  was  that  of  several 
persons  in  line  of  march.  By  the  measured  footfall  of  the 
steps  it  might  be  gathered  that  among  these  persons  was  a 
certain  number  of  soldiers. 

"  'Come!"  said  the  jailer,  taking  the  countess  and  the 
child  each  by  an  arm,  and  dragging  them  with  him,  'come! 
It  is  doubtless  some  night  visit,  some  round  of  the  gov- 
ernor. But,  in  any  case,  you  must  not  be  seen.  As  soon 
as  the  visitors  have  quitted  the  dungeon  of  the  count,  if, 
indeed,  they  enter  it,  we  can  resume  the  work  where  we 
left  off.' 

' '  The  countess  and  her  daughter  opposed  a  weak  resist- 
ance. Besides,  the  prisoner  himself  pushed  them  toward 
the  door.  They  passed  out  of  it,  followed  by  the  jailer, 
who  closed  it  after  them.  As  I  have  told  your  Highness, 


there  was  in  the  second  dungeon  a  grated  door,  opening  into 
the  first,  and  through  which,  thanks  to  the  darkness  and  the 
closeness  of  the  bars,  one  could  see  everything  without 
being  seen. 

"The  countess  held  her  daughter  in  her  arms.  The 
mother  and  child,  hardly  breathing,  glued  their  faces  to 
the  bars  to  see  what  was  going  to  happen. 

' '  The  hope  they  had  for  a  moment  entertained,  that  the 
business  of  the  new-comers  was  not  with  the  count,  was  soon 
dissipated.  The  procession  halted  at  the  door  of  the  dun- 
geon, and  the  key  was  heard  grating  in  the  lock.  At  the 
spectacle  presented  to  her  eyes  the  countess  could  hardly 
refrain  from  a  cry  of  terror;  it  was  evident  the  jailer  guessed 
as  much. 

"  'Not  a  word,  madame;  not  a  syllable!  not  a  gesture, 
whatever  happens !  or — ' 

"He  thought  for  a  moment  what  means  he  should  adopt 
to  impose  silence  on  the  countess;  then,  drawing  a  thin, 
sharp  blade  from  his  breast — 

"  'Or  I  poniard  your  child!'  he  said. 

"  'Wretch!'  stammered  the  countess. 

"  'Oh!'  he  replied,  'each  one  here  must  think  of  his  own 
life;  and  that  of  a  poor  jailer  is,  in  the  eyes  of  the  poor 
jailer,  of  as  much  value  as  that  of  a  noble  countess!' 

' '  The  countess  placed  her  hand  on  the  mouth  of  the  child 
in  order  to  silence  the  child.  As  to  herself,  after  the  threat 
of  the  jailer,  she  was  sure  she  would  not  let  a  sound  escape. 

"This  is  what  the  countess  saw  from  the  other  side  of 
the  door,  and  what  had  torn  from  her  the  cry  stifled  by  the 

"First,  two  men,  clad  in  black,  and  having  each  a  torch 
in  his  hand ;  behind  them,  a  man  bearing  a  parchment  un- 
folded, from  which  hung  a  big  red  seal;  behind  this  man, 
another  man,  masked,  and  muffled  in  a  brown  robe ;  behind 
the  man  masked,  a  priest.  They  entered,  one  by  one,  into 
the  dungeon  without  the  countess  betraying  her  emotion  by 
a  word  or  by  a  gesture;  and,  moreover,  when  they  entered, 


the  poor  woman  saw,  outlined  in  the  shadow  of  the  corridor, 
a  group  still  more  sinister!  Facing  the  door  was  a  man 
wearing  a  costume  half  black,  half  red,  his  two  hands  rest- 
ing on  the  hilt  of  a  long  broad  naked  sword.  Behind  him 
were  six  Brothers  of  Mercy,  clad  in  black-hooded  cloaks, 
with  openings  for  the  eyes  only,  and  bearing  a  bier  on  their 
shoulders.  Finally,  beyond  them  were  seen  the  mustaches 
of  a  dozen  soldiers  drawn  up  against  the  wall.  The  two 
men  holding  the  torches,  the  man  holding  a  parchment, 
the  man  masked,  and  the  priest  entered,  as  I  have  said, 
into  the  dungeon.  Then  the  door  was  shut,  leaving  out- 
side the  executioner,  the  Brothers  of  Mercy,  and  the 

"The  count  was  standing,  leaning  against  the  gloomy 
prison- wall,  from  which  loomed  out  his  pale  features.  His 
eye  sought,  behind  the  bars  of  the  door,  the  direction  of 
the  frightened  eyes  he  could  not  see,  but  which  he  guessed 
were  glued  to  those  bars.  Those  spectral  visitors,  mute  and 
unlocked  for  though  they  were,  left  him  no  doubt  as  to 
the  fate  that  awaited  him.  Besides,  if  he  had  had  the  good 
fortune  to  have  reason  for  doubting,  his  doubt  would  not 
have  been  of  long  duration. 

"The  two  men  bearing  torches  placed  themselves,  the 
one  on  his  right,  the  other  on  his  left ;  the  masked  man  and 
the  priest  stayed  near  the  door;  the  man  holding  the  parch- 
ment advanced. 

' '  '  Count, '  he  asked,  '  do  you  believe  that  you  are  fit  to 
meet  God  ?' 

"  'As  fit  as  one  can  be,'  replied  the  count,  in  a  calm 
voice,  'who  has  nothing  to  reproach  himself  with.' 

"  'So  much  the  better!'  replied  the  man  with  the  parch- 
ment ;  '  for  you  are  condemned,  and  I  am  come  to  read  your 
sentence  of  death. ' 

"'Pronounced  by  what  tribunal?'  asked  the  count, 

"  'By  the  all-powerful  justice  of  the  duke.' 

14  'On  what  accusation?' 


"  'On  that  of  the  most  august  emperor,  Charles  V.' 

"  'It  is  well.     I  am  ready  to  hear  the  sentence. ' 

' '  '  On  your  knees,  count !  It  is  on  his  knees  that  a  man 
about  to  die  should  hear  the  sentence  that  condemns  him. ' 

"  'When  he  is  guilty,  but  not  when  he  is  innocent.' 

"  'Count,  you  are  not  beyond  the  common  law:  on  your 
knees !  or  we  shall  be  constrained  to  employ  force. ' 

"  'Try!'  said  the  count. 

"  'Let  him  stand,'  said  the  masked  man;  'let  him  cross 
himself  only,  in  order  to  place  himself  under  the  protection 
of  the  Lord!' 

"The  count  started  at  the  sound  of  this  voice. 

"  'Duke  Sforza, '  he  said,  turning  toward  the  masked 
man,  'I  thank  you.' 

' '  '  Oh,  it  is  the  duke, '  murmured  the  countess ;  '  perhaps 
I  might  prevail  on  him  to  pardon. ' 

"  'Silence,  madame,  if  you  value  the  life  of  your  child!' 
said  the  jailer,  in  a  whisper. 

' '  The  countess  gave  utterance  to  a  groan  which  was  heard 
by  the  count,  and  made  him  start.  He  hazarded  a  gesture 
with  his  hand,  which  meant  'Courage!'  then,  as  the  masked 
man  had  invited  him,  he  said  aloud,  making  the  sign  of  the 
cross — 

"  'In  the  name  of  the  Father,  and  of  the  Son,  and  of  the 
Holy  Ghost. ' 

"  ''Amen!'1  murmured  those  present. 

' '  Thereupon  the  man  with  the  parchment  began  to  read 
the  sentence.  It  was  rendered  in  the  name  of  Duke  Fran- 
cesco Maria  Sforza,  at  the  request  of  the  Emperor  Charles 
V.,  and  it  condemned  Francesco  Maraviglia,  agent  of  the 
King  of  France,  to  be  executed  at  night,  in  a  dungeon,  as 
a  traitor,  spy,  and  betrayer  of  state  secrets. 

"A  second  groan  reached  the  ear  of  the  count — a  groan 
so  faint  that  he  alone  was  able,  not  to  perceive,  but  to 
divine  it. 

"He  turned  his  gaze  toward  the  spot  from  which  this 
doleful  sound  came. 


"  'Unjust  as  is  the  sentence  of  the  duke,'  he  said,  'I  re- 
ceive it  without  trouble  and  without  anger.  However,  as 
the  man  who  cannot  defend  his  life  ought  to  defend  his 
honor,  I  appeal  from  the  sentence  of  the  duke. ' 

"  'And  to  whom?'  asked  the  masked  man. 

1 1  i  rpo  my  kj-Qg  an(;-[  master,  Frangois  I. ,  in  the  first  place, 
and  then  to  the  future  and  to  God ! — to  God,  in  whose  hands 
are  all  men,  and  particularly  princes,  kings,  and  emperors. ' 

41  'Is  it  the  only  tribunal  to  which  you  appeal  ?'  said  the 
masked  man. 

"  'Yes,  and  I  summon  you  to  appear  before  that  tribunal, 
Duke  Francesco  Maria  Sforza!' 

"  'And  pray  when?'  retorted  the  masked  man. 

"  'In  the  same  time  that  Jacques  de  Molay,  Grand 
Master  of  the  Templars,  assigned  to  his  judge;  that  is  to 
say,  in  a  year  and  a  day.  To-day  is  the  15th  of  November, 
1584;  on  the  16th  of  November,  1535,  then —  Do  you  hear 
me,  Duke  Francesco  Maria  Sforza  ?' 

"And  he  stretched  forth  his  hand  toward  the  masked 
man  to  emphasize  the  menace  and  the  summons.  But  for 
the  mask  hiding  the  face  of  the  duke,  his  paleness  would 
have  been  visible  to  all;  for  it  was  he,  beyond  all  doubt, 
who  was  present  at  the  agony  of  his  victim.  For  a  moment 
it  was  the  condemned  who  triumphed,  and  the  judge  who 
trembled  before  him. 

"  'It  is  well,'  said  the  duke;  'you  have  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  to  pass  with  this  holy  man  before  undergoing  your 
sentence. ' 

"And  he  pointed  to  the  priest. 

' '  '  Try  to  finish  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  for  you  shall  not 
have  a  minute  longer. ' 

"Then,  turning  to  the  man  of  God— 

' '  '  Father, '  he  said,  '  do  your  duty. ' 

"And  he  left,  with  the  two  torch-bearers  and  the  man 
with  the  parchment. 

"But  he  left  the  door  wide  open  behind  him,  in  order 
that  his  eyes  and  the  eyes  of  the  soldiers  might  be  able  to 


see  the  interior  of  the  dungeon,  and  follow  all  the  move- 
ments of  the  condemned,  whom  he  had  only  quitted  through 
respect  for  the  rite  of  compassion  and  so  as  not  to  hear  the 
voice  of  the  penitent. 

"Another  sigh  passed  through  the  bars,  and  touched 
gently  the  palpitating  heart  of  the  condemned.  The  coun- 
tess had  hoped  that  the  door  might  be  shut  on  him  and  the 
priest,  and — who  knows? — perhaps  by  supplication  and 
tears,  the  sight  of  a  wife  on  her  knees  praying  for  her 
husband,  of  a  child  praying  for  her  father,  might  prevail 
on  the  man  of  God  to  consent  to  turn  aside  his  head,  and 
let  the  count  escape. 

"It  was  the  last  hope  of  my  poor  mother;  it  failed  her — 

Emmanuel  Philibert  started.  Sometimes  he  forgot  that 
this  recital  was  made  by  a  son  who  was  relating  the  last  mo- 
ments of  his  father.  It  seemed  to  him  as  if  he  was  reading 
the  pages  of  some  terrible  legend. 

Then,  on  a  sudden,  a  word  recalled  him  to  reality,  and 
made  him  comprehend  that  the  recital  did  not  issue  from 
the  pen  of  a  cold  historian,  but  fell  from  the  lips  of  a  son, 
a  living  chronicle  of  the  agony  of  his  father. 

"Yes,  it  was  the  last  hope  of  my  poor  mother;  it  failed 
her!"  repeated  Odoardo,  pausing  a  moment  in  his  narra- 
tion, on  seeing  the  movement  of  Emmanuel.  "For,"  he 
continued,  "on  the  other  side  of  the  door,  lighted  by  the 
two  torches  and  by  the  glare  of  the'  smoky  lamps  of  the 
corridor,  the  dismal  spectacle  was  still  there,  terrible  as 
a  vision,  deadly  as  reality.  The  priest  alone  remained  near 
the  count,  as  I  have  told  you.  The  count,  without  disturb- 
ing himself  as  to  from  whom  this  last  consoler  came,  knelt 
before  him.  Then  began  the  confession — a  strange  confes- 
sion, in  which  the  man  about  to  die  did  not  seem  to  think 
of  himself,  but  to  be  preoccupied  only  with  others ;  in  which 
the  words  said  to  the  priest  were  really  addressed  to  the  wife 
and  child,  and  ascended  to  Grod  only  after  having  passed 
through  the  hearts  of  a  mother  and  a  daughter !  My  sister 
alone,  if  she  still  lives,  could  recount  the  tears  with  which 


this  confession  was  received;  for  I  was  not  there.  I,  a  merry 
lad,  was  playing,  laughing,  singing,  perhaps,  ignorant  of 
what  was  passing  within  three  hundred  leagues  of  me,  at 
the  very  moment  when  my  father,  at  the  threshold  of  death, 
was  speaking  of  his  absent  son  to  my  weeping  mother  and 

Oppressed  by  this  memory,  Odoardo  stopped  an  instant; 
then  he  resumed,  stifling  a  sigh: 

"The  quarter  of  an  hour  was  soon  passed.  The  masked 
man,  with  a  watch  in  his  hand,  followed  the  face  of  priest 
and  penitent;  but  when  the  fifteen  minutes  had  elapsed — 

"  'Count,'  he  said,  'the  time  allotted  you  to  remain 
among  the  living  has  expired.  The  priest  has  finished  his 
task ;  it  is  for  the  executioner  now  to  do  his. ' 

"The  priest  gave  the  count  absolution,  and  rose.  Then, 
pointing  to  the  crucifix,  he  retired  backward  toward  the 
door,  and  as  the  priest  retired,  the  executioner  advanced. 
The  count  remained  on  his  knees.  'Have  you  any  last 
petition  to  address  to  Duke  Sforza  or  to  Charles  Y.  ?' 

"  'I  have  no  petition  to  address  to  any  one  but  God,' 
replied  the  count. 

"  'Then  you  are  ready  ?'  asked  the  same  man. 

"  'You  see  it,  since  I  am  on  my  knees.' 

"And,  in  fact,  the  count  was  on  his  knees,  his  face 
turned  toward  the  bars  of  that  gloomy  door  through  which 
his  wife  and  child  were  looking  at  him.  His  mouth,  which 
seemed  to  continue  to  pray,  sent  them  words  of  love, 
which  was  still  a  last  prayer. 

"  '  If  you  do  not  wish  my  hand  to  sully  you,  count, '  said 
a  voice  behind  the  victim,  'pull  down  the  collar  of  your 
shirt.  You  are  a  gentleman,  and  I  have  no  right  to  touch 
you  except  with  the  blade  of  my  sword. ' 

"The  count,  without  answering,  pulled  his  shirt  down  to 
his  shoulders,  and  remained  with  the  neck  bare. 

"  'Good  and  Gracious  Lord!'  said  the  count,  'Almighty 
and  Merciful  God,  into  Thy  hands  I  commend  my  spirit!' 

' '  He  had  scarcely  said  the  words  when  the  sword  of  the 


executioner  flamed  and  hissed  in  the  darkness,  like  a  flash 
of  lightning,  and  the  head  of  the  victim  fell  from  his  shoul- 
ders, rolling,  as  if  with  a  last  impulse  of  love,  to  the  foot  of 
the  grated  door.  A  hoarse,  muffled  cry  was  heard  at  the 
same  time,  and  also  the  noise  of  a  body  falling  backward. 

"But  the  bystanders  believed  this  cry  was  the  last  sound 
uttered  by  the  victim;  the  noise  they  thought  was  made  by 
his  body  falling  on  the  flagstone  of  the  dungeon — 

"Excuse  me,  monseigneur, "  said  Odoardo,  stopping; 
"but  if  you  wish  to  hear  the  rest  I  must  have  a  glass  of 
water,  for  I  feel  faint. ' ' 

And,  in  fact,  Emmanuel  Philibert  saw  that  the  narrator 
of  this  terrible  history  was  pale  and  tottering.  He  ran  for- 
ward to  support  him,  placed  him  on  a  pile  of  cushions,  and 
gave  him  the  glass  of  water  he  asked  for. 

The  sweat  was  running  down  the  forehead  of  the  prince, 
and,  soldier  though  he  was,  accustomed  to  fields  of  battle, 
he  seemed  as  near  fainting  as  he  whom  he  was  succoring. 

At  the  end  of  ten  minutes  Odoardo  recovered. 

"Would  you  know  more,  monseigneur?"  he  asked. 

"I  wish  to  know  everything,  sir,"  said  Emmanuel; 
"such  narratives  as  yours  are  great  lessons  for  princes  who 
are  some  day  to  reign. ' ' 

"Be  it  so,"  answered  the  young  man;  "besides,  the  most 
terrible  part  is  finished. ' ' 

He  wiped  the  perspiration  from  his  forehead  with  his 
hand,  and  perhaps,  also,  his  eyes,  wet  with  tears  at  the  same 
time,  and  continued: 

"When  my  mother  recovered  her  senses,  everything  had 
vanished  like  a  vision,  and  she  might  have  believed  she 
had  Ijad  a  bad  dream,  if  she  had  not  found  herself  lying  on 
the  bed  of  the  jailer.  Such  terrible  orders  had  been  given 
by  her  to  my  sister  not  to  cry,  for  fear  her  sobs  might  be 
heard,  that,  although  the  poor  child  believed  she  had  lost 
both  father  and  mother,  she  regarded  the  latter  with  wide, 
scared  eyes,  from  which  the  tears  were  flowing;  but  these 
tears  continued  to  flow  from  the  eyes  of  the  child  as  silently 

for  t 


for  the  mother  as  they  did  for  the  father.  The  jailer  was 
no  longer  there;  there  remained  only  his  wife.  She  took 
pity  on  the  countess,  and  made  her  put  on  one  of  her  gar- 
ments; she  dressed  my  sister  in  a  suit  of  her  son's,  and  at 
daybreak  she  set  out  with  them  and  guided  them  on  the 
road  to  Novara;  then  she  gave  two  ducats  to  the  countess, 
and  recommended  her  to  God. 

"My  poor  mother  seemed  pursued  by  a  terrible  vision. 
She  did  not  dream  either  of  returning  to  the  palace  and 
taking  some  money  out  of  it,  nor  of  finding  the  carriage  in 
which  the  count  was  to  escape;  she  was  mad  with  terror. 
Her  only  care  was  to  fly,  to  cross  the  frontier,  to  quit  the 
territories  of  the  Duke  of  Milan.  She  disappeared  with  her 
child  in  the  neighborhood  of  Novara,  and  nothing  further 
was  heard  of  her.  What  has  become  of  my  mother  ?  What 
has  become  of  my  sister?  I  am  utterly  ignorant  of  their 
fate !  The  news  of  the  death  of  my  father  reached  Paris. 
It  was  the  king  himself  who  informed  me  of  it,  at  the  same 
time  telling  me  I  should  never  want  his  protection,  and  that 
he  was  about  to  exact  vengeance  for  the  assassination  of  the 
count  by  war. 

"I  asked  the  king's  permission  to  accompany  him. 
Fortune,  at  the  beginning,  favored  the  arms  of  France. 
We  crossed  the  states  of  your  father,  of  which  the  king 
took  possession;  then  we  arrived  at  Milan. 

"Duke  Sforza  had  taken  refuge  with  Paul  III.  at  Rome. 

"An  inquiry  was  made  into  the  murder  of  my  father; 
but  it  was  impossible  to  find  any  one  who  had  taken  a  share 
in  this  murder,  or  had  been  present  at  it.  Three  days  after 
the  execution  the  executioner  suddenly  died.  The  name  of 
the  usher  who  read  the  sentence  was  unknown.  The  jailer 
had  taken  flight  with  his  wife  and  son. 

"Tims,  in  spite  of  all  inquiries,  I  could  not  even  dis- 
cover the  spot  where  the  body  of  my  father  rested.  Twenty 
years  had  elapsed  since  those  useless  inquiries  when  I  re- 
ceived a  letter  dated  from  Avignon. 

"A  man,  who  merely  signed  his  initials,  invited  me  to 


come  at  once  to  Avignon  if  I  wished  to  gain  reliable  infor- 
mation on  the  fate  of  my  father,  Comte  Francesco  de  Mara- 
viglia.  He  gave  me  the  name  and  address  of  a  priest  whose 
mission  it  would  be  to  conduct  me  to  him  if  I  accepted  the 

"The  letter  offered  me  that  which  was  the  desire  of  my 
whole  life ;  I  set  out  on  the  very  instant.  I  went  straight 
to  the  priest;  the  priest  was  prepared.  He  led  me  to  the 
writer.  It  was  the  jailer  of  the  fortress  of  Milan.  Seeing 
my  father  dead,  and  knowing  the  spot  where  the  carriage 
was  waiting  with  a  hundred  thousand  ducats,  the  evil 
spirit  tempted  him.  He  had  placed  my  mother  on  his  bed, 
recommending  her  to  his  wife ;  then  he  let  himself  down  by 
means  of  a  rope-ladder,  crept  up  behind  the  coachman,  who 
was  waiting  for  my  father,  saying  that  he  came  from  the 
latter,  stabbed  him,  and,  after  throwing  his  body  into 
the  fosse,  continued  on  his  way,  taking  the  carriage  with 

"Once  over  the  frontier,  he  took  post-horses,  gained 
Avignon,  sold  the  carriage,  and,  as  no  one  ever  claimed 
its  contents,  he  appropriated  the  hundred  thousand  ducats. 
He  then  wrote  to  his  wife  and  son  to  join  him. 

"But  the  hand  of  Grod  was  on  this  man.  His  wife  died 
first;  next,  after  wasting  away  for  ten  years,  the  son  joined 
the  mother;  at  last,  he  felt  that  his  own  turn  would  soon 
come  for  rendering  an  account  to  God  of  what  he  had  done 
during  his  passage  through  this  world.  It  was  this  sum- 
mons from  on  high  that  made  him  repent  and  think  of  me. 
You  understand,  therefore,  what  was  his  object  in  wishing 
to  see  me. 

"It  was  to  confess  everything  to  me,  and  to  ask  my 
pardon,  not  for  the  death  of  my  father,  with  which  he  had 
no  concern,  but  for  the  murder  of  the  coachman  and  the 
robbery  of  the  hundred  thousand  ducats.  As  to  the  man 
assassinated,  there  was  no  remedy  for  the  crime ;  the  man 
was  dead. 

"But  as  to  the  hundred  thousand  ducats,  he  had  pur- 


chased  with  them  a  castle  and  a  magnificent  property  at 
Yille-neuve-lez- Avignon,  on  the  revenues  of  which  he 

"I  began  by  making  him  relate  to  me  all  the  details  of 
the  death  of  my  father,  not  once,  but  ten  times.  For  that 
matter,  the  night  had  appeared  so  terrible  to  him  that  no 
incident  escaped  him,  and  he  recalled  the  slightest  details 
of  the  sinister  event  as  if  it  had  passed  the  evening  before. 
Unfortunately,  he  knew  nothing  of  my  mother  and  sister 
except  what  his  wife  had  told  him,  who  lost  sight  of  them 
on  the  road  to  Kovara.  They  must  have  perished  of  hunger 
and  fatigue! 

"I  was  rich,  and  had  no  need  of  this  increase  of  fortune; 
but  a  day  might  arrive  when  my  mother  and  sister  would 
reappear.  Not  wishing  to  dishonor  this  man  by  a  public 
declaration  of  his  crime,  I  had  him  make  a  gift  of  this 
castle  and  estate  to  the  Comtesse  de  Maraviglia  and  her 
daughter.  Then,  as  far  as  in  me  lay,  and  as  God  gave  me 
power,  I  pardoned  him. 

"But  there  my  mercy  ended.  Francesco  Maria  Sforza 
died  in  1535,  a  year  and  a  day  after  the  summons  given  him 
by  my  father  to  appear  before  the  tribunal  of  God.  I  had 
nothing  further,  therefore,  to  do  with  him;  he  was  punished 
for  his  weakness,  if  not  for  his  crime. 

"But  there  remained  the  Emperor  Charles  V. — the  Em- 
peror at  the  pinnacle  of  his  power,  at  the  summit  of  his 
glory,  at  the  height  of  his  prosperity !  It  was  he  who  had 
remained  unpunished;  it  was  he  I  resolved  to  strike. 

"You  will  say  that  the  men  who  bear  the  crown  and 
sceptre  are  to  be  judged  only  by  God;  but  sometimes  God 
seems  to  forget. 

"It  is  for  men  then  to  remember.  I  remembered — that 
is  all.  But  I  was  ignorant  that  the  Emperor  wore,  under 
his  clothes,  a  coat  of  mail.  He,  too,  remembered!  I  am 
Odoardo  Maraviglia,  and  I  wished  to  slay  the  Emperor,  be- 
cause he  had  my  father  assassinated  by  night,  and  caused 
my  mother  and  sister  to  die  of  hunger  and  fatigue ! 


"I  have  spoken.  Now,  monseigneur,  you  know  the 
truth.  I  wished  to  kill;  I  deserve  to  be  killed;  but  I  am 
a  gentleman,  and  I  demand  the  death  of  a  gentleman. ' ' 

Emmanuel  Philibert  bowed  his  head  in  token  of  assent. 

"It  is  just,"  he  said,  "and  your  demand  shall  be  granted. 
Do  you  desire  to  be  free  up  to  the  moment  of  execution  ? 
By  being  free,  I  mean  not  being  bound. ' ' 

"What  must  I  do  for  this  ?" 

"Give  me  your  word  of  honor  not  to  escape." 

"You  have  it  already." 

"Eenew  it  to  me,  then." 

"I  renew  it;  only  make  haste.  The  crime  is  public;  the 
confession  is  complete.  What  is  the  use  of  making  me 

"It  is  not  for  me  to  fix  the  hour  of  the  death  of  a  man. 
It  must  be  according  to  the  good  pleasure  of  the  Emperor 
Charles  V." 

Then,  summoning  the  sergeant — 

"Conduct  this  gentleman  to  a  private  tent,"  said  Em- 
manuel, "and  let  him  want  for  nothing!  A  single  sentinel 
will  suffice  to  guard  him:  I  have  his  parole  as  a  gentle- 
man. Go!" 

The  sergeant  left,  taking  the  prisoner  with  him.  Em- 
manuel Philibert  followed  him  with  his  eyes  until  he  was 
some  distance  from  his  tent.  Then,  as  he  thought  he  heard 
a  feeble  sound  behind  him,  he  turned. 

Leona  was  standing  on  the  threshold  of  the  second  com- 
partment, the  tapestry  of  which  had  fallen  behind  her. 

It  was  the  noise  made  by  this  tapestry  falling  which  had 
attracted  the  attention  of  Emmanuel  Philibert. 

Leona  had  her  hands  clasped;  her  face  bore  the  trace 
of  the  tears  she  had  no  doubt  shed  at  the  recital  of  the 

"What  do  you  want?"  asked  the  prince. 

' '  I  want  to  say  to  you, ' '  she  said — ' '  I  want  to  say  to  you 
that  this  man  must  not  die!" 

The  countenance  of  Emmanuel  became  overcast 


"Leona, "  said  Emmanuel,  "you  have  not  reflected  on 
what  you  ask.  This  man  has  committed  a  horrible  crime, 
if  not  in  fact,  at  least  in  intention. ' ' 

' '  No  matter, ' '  replied  Leona,  throwing  her  arms  around 
the  prince's  neck;  "I  repeat  to  you,  this  man  must  not  die!" 

' '  The  Emperor  will  decide  his  lot,  Leona.  The  only  thing 
I  can  do  is  to  report  everything  to  the  Emperor. ' ' 

"And  I  tell  you,  though  the  Emperor  condemned  this 
young  man  to  a  death  of  shame,  you  would  still  obtain  his 
pardon,  would  you  not,  Emmanuel?" 

"Leona,  you  believe  I  have  a  power  over  the  Emperor  I 
do  not  really  possess.  The  imperial  justice  must  follow  its 
course.  If  it  condemns — " 

"Even  if  it  condemned,  still  must  Odoardo  Maraviglia 
live;  you  hear  me  ?  He  must  live,  my  dearest  Emmanuel!" 

"And  why,  pray?" 

"Because,"  replied  Leona — "because  he  is  my  brother!" 

Emmanuel  uttered  a  cry  of  amazement. 

That  woman  dying  of  hunger  and  fatigue  on  the  bank  of 
the  Sesia,  that  child  obstinately  keeping  the  secret  of  her 
birth  and  sex,  that  page  refusing  the  diamond  of  Charles  Y. 
— all  was  explained  by  those  four  words  which  had  just  es- 
caped from  Leona  in  reference  to  Odoardo  Maraviglia,  "He 
is  my  brother!" 



AT  THE  very  time  the  scene  we  have  related  was  pass- 
ing under  the  tent  of  Emmanuel  Philibert,  a  great 
event,  announced  by  flourishes  of  trumpets  and  hur- 
rying of  soldiers,  was  creating  excitement  in  the  imperial 

A  little  troop  of  horsemen  had  been  distinguished  com- 
ing from  the  direction  of  Brussels;  couriers  had  been  sent 


forward  to  meet  this  troop,  and  had  returned  galloping  and 
making  irreat  signs  of  joy.  They  announced  that  the  leader 
of  the  cavalcade  was  no  less  a  person  than  the  only  son  of 
the  most  august  emperor,  Philip,  Prince  of  Spain,  King 
of  Naples,  and  husband  of  the  Queen  of  England. 

Amid  the  nourishes  of  trumpets  and  the  cheers  of  the 
first  who  perceived  the  prince,  all  left  their  tents  and  hur- 
ried to  greet  the  new-comer. 

Philip  was  mounted  on  a  handsome  white  steed,  which 
he  managed  gracefully  enough.  He  was  clad  in  violet 
mantle  and  black  tunic — the  two  mourning  colors  of  kings; 
his  breeches  were  violet  also,  and  he  had  on  immense  boots 
of  buffalo  leather,  and  wore  a  little  black  cap,  such  as  was 
the  fashion  at  the  period,  adorned  with  a  silken  band  and  a 
black  plume. 

Eound  his  neck  was  the  collar  of  the  Grolden  Fleece.  He 
was  then  a  man  of  twenty- eight  years,  of  middle  height, 
rather  fat  than  lean,  with  cheeks  somewhat  puffed,  a  blond 
beard,  close,  thin  lips  that  rarely  smiled,  a  straight  nose, 
and  eyes  that  trembled  under  their  lashes  like  those  of 
hares.  Although  he  was  handsome  rather  than  ugly,  the 
ensemble  of  his  physiognomy  had  nothing  sympathetic;  and 
it  might  be  easily  seen  that  under  that  brow,  wrinkled  be- 
fore its  time,  were  harbored  gloomy  rather  than  pleasant 

The  Emperor  had  a  great  affection  for  him.  As  he  had 
loved  his  mother,  he  loved  his  son.  But  whenever  a  caress 
drew  the  two  hearts  together,  he  felt  that  the  prince's  was 
enveloped  in  a  sheeting  of  ice  which  no  embrace  could  ever 

Sometimes,  when  he  was  long  without  seeing  his  son, 
when  he  could  no  longer  try  to  penetrate  with  his  eyes  the 
troubled  and  shifting  look  of  the  young  prince,  he  would 
anxiously  meditate  in  what  direction  this  darksome  miner, 
eternally  occupied  with  underground  intrigues,  was  burrow- 
ing in  the  interests  of  his  ambition.  Was  it  against  their 
common  enemies  ?  Was  it  against  himself  ?  And  with  this 


doubt  in  his  heart,  he  would  let  some  of  those  terrible  words 
escape  which  Emmanuel  Philibert  had  heard  that  very  morn- 
ing with  reference  to  the  prisoner. 

The  birth  of  the  young  prince  had  been  as  gloomy  as  his 
life  was  to  be.  There  are  gloomy  dawns  which  are  reflec- 
tions of  the  entire  day.  The  Emperor  received  the  news  of 
his  birth,  which  took  place  on  Tuesday,  the  31st  of  May, 
1527,  at  the  same  time  as  that  of  the  death  of  the  Conne- 
table  de  Bourbon,  the  sack  of  Rome,  and  the  captivity  of 
Clement  VII.  All  rejoicings  were  forbidden  at  this  birth, 
for  fear  it  might  form  a  contrast  with  the  universal  mourn- 
ing of  Christendom. 

Only  a  year  after,  the  royal  heir  was  recognized  as  Prince 
of  Spain.  Then  there  were  grand  festivals;  but  the  child 
who  as  a  man  was  to  cause  the  shedding  of  so  many  tears — 
the  child  did  nothing  but  weep  during  these  festivals. 

He  had  just  reached  his  sixteenth  year,  when  the  Em- 
peror, wishing  to  make  trial  of  him  in  war,  ordered  him  to 
compel  the  French,  commanded  by  the  Dauphin,  to  raise 
the  siege  of  Perpignan;  but  in  order  that  he  might  not  run 
the  risk  of  any  check  in  this  enterprise,  he  was  accompanied 
by  six  grandees  of  Spain,  fourteen  barons,  eight  hundred 
gentlemen,  two  thousand  cavalry,  and  five  thousand  in- 

Against  such  a  reinforcement  of  fresh  troops  no  headway 
could  be  made.  The  French  raised  the  siege,  and  the  In- 
fante of  Spain  began  his  military  career  with  a  victory. 

But  after  the  report  he  ordered  to  be  laid  before  him  of 
this  campaign,  Charles  V.  easily  understood  that  the  in- 
stincts of  his  son  were  not  warlike.  He  reserved,  there- 
fore, to  himself  the  risks  of  war  and  the  uncertain  fortunes 
of  battles,  leaving  to  the  heir  of  his  power  the  study  of  poli- 
tics, for  which  he  seemed  to  have  a  natural  bent. 

At  sixteen,  the  young  prince  had  made  such  progress  in 
this  great  art  of  government  that  Charles  V.  did  not  hesitate 
to  name  him  governor  of  all  the  kingdoms  of  Spain. 

In  1544,  he  married  Dona  Maria  of  Portugal,  his  cousin- 


german,  born  in  the  same  year  as  himself,  and  even  in  the 
very  hour. 

He  had  a  son,  Don  Carlos,  the  hero  of  a  lamentable  his- 
tory, and  of  two  or  three  tragedies.  This  son  was  born  in 

In  fine,  in  1548,  Philip  left  Barcelona  for  the  purpose  of 
visiting  Italy  in  the  midst  of  a  frightful  storm,  which  had 
scattered  the  fleet  of  Doria,  and  forced  it  to  return  for  the 
moment  into  port;  with  a  contrary  wind,  he  attempted  the 
voyage  again,  landed  at  Genoa,  from  Genoa  proceeded  to 
Milan,  explored  the  battlefield  of  Pavia,  required  to  be 
shown  the  spot  where  Frangois  I.  surrendered  his  sword, 
and  measured  with  his  eyes  the  depth  of  the  ditch  in  which 
the  French  monarchy  was  near  being  buried;  then,  taciturn 
and  silent  as  ever,  he  quitted  Milan,  crossed  central  Italy, 
and  joined  the  Emperor  at  Worms.  Then  Charles  V., 
Flemish  by  birth  and  heart,  presented  him  to  his  fellow- 
countrymen  of  Namur  and  Brussels.  , 

At  Namur,  Emmanuel  Philibert  received  him,  and  did 
him  the  honors  of  the  city.  The  two  cousins  embraced  each 
other  tenderly  at  their  meeting,  and  afterward  Emmanuel 
gave  him  the  spectacle  of  a  little  war,  in  which,  it  may  be 
well  conceived,  Philip  did  not  take  any  part. 

The  festivals  were  not  less  sumptuous  at  Brussels  than  at 
Namur.  Seven  hundred  princes,  barons,  and  gentlemen  re- 
ceived outside  the  gates  the  heir  of  the  greatest  monarchy  in 
the  world.  Then  when  this  heir  had  been  fully  recognized 
and  seen,  his  father  sent  him  back  to  Spain. 

Emmanuel  Philibert  accompanied  him  to  Genoa.  It  was 
during  this  journey  that  the  Prince  of  Savoy  saw  his  father 
for  the  last  time. 

Three  years  after  the  return  of  Philip  into  Spain,  King 
Edward  VI.  of  England  died,  leaving  the  crown  to  his  sister 
Mary,  daughter  of  Catherine,  that  aunt  whom  the  Emperor 
loved  so  much  that  he  learned  English,  he -said,  for  no  other 
reason  except  to  speak  to  her. 

The  new  queen  was  pressed  to  choose  a  husband.     She 


was  forty-six  years  old;  consequently,  she  had  little  time  to 
lose.  Charles  Y.  proposed  his  son  Philip. 

Philip  had  lost  that  charming  Dona  Maria,  who  had  lived 
only  the  age  of  the  flowers.  Four  days  after  the  birth  of  Don 
Carlos,  the  women  of  the  queen,  curious  to  see  a  magnificent 
auto-da-fe,  left  the  new  mother  alone  in  front  of  a  table  cov- 
ered with  fruits.  The  sick  woman  had  been  forbidden  to  eat 
of  those  fruits.  A  daughter  of  Eve  on  all  points,  the  poor 
princess  disregarded  the  injunction.  She  rose,  bit  with  her 
beautiful  young  teeth,  not  into  an  apple,  but  into  a  melon, 
and  in  twenty-four  hours  was  dead. 

Nothing,  therefore,  prevented  Don  Philip  from  marrying 
Mary  Tudor,  from  uniting  England  and  Spain,  and  stifling 
France  between  the  island  of  the  North  and  the  peninsula  of 
the  South. 

It  was  the  grand  aim  of  the  union. 

Philip  had  two  rivals  for  the  hand  of  his  cousin.  They 
were  Cardinal  Pole,  a  cardinal  without  being  a  priest — son 
of  Greorge,  Duke  of  Clarence,  brother  of  Edward  IV.,  conse- 
quently, cousin  to  the  queen  in  nearly  the  same  degree  of 
relationship  as  Philip;  and  the  Earl  of  Courtenay,  nephew 
of  Henry  VIII.,  consequently,  as  nearly  related  as  the  two 
others  to  Mary. 

Charles  V.  began  by  making  sure  of  the  support  of  Mary 
herself;  and  having  gained  this  support  through  the  influ- 
ence of  Father  Henry,  her  confessor,  he  did  not  hesitate 
to  act. 

The  Princess  Mary  was  an  ardent  Catholic.  The  title  of 
"Bloody  Mary,"  given  to  her  by  successive  English  histori- 
ans, is  a-  proof  of  it. 

The  Emperor  began  then  by  banishing  from  her  presence 
the  Earl  of  Courtenay,  a  young  man  of  thirty-two,  hand- 
some as  an  angel  and  brave  as  a  Courtenay.  He  accused 
him  of  being  a  zealous  protector  of  heresy;  and,  in  fact, 
Mary  regarded  the  two  of  her  ministers  who  were  most  fa- 
vorable to  this  marriage  as  strongly  tainted  with  that  false 
religion  of  which  her  father  had  made  himself  the  Pope,  in 

(7)_Yol.  20 


order  to  have  no  further  connection  with  the  bishops  of  Rome, 
as  he  called  them. 

This  point  having  been  well  fixed  in  the  mind  of  the 
queen,  Courtenay  was  no  longer  to  be  feared. 

Kemained  Cardinal  Pole,  perhaps  less  brave  than  Courte- 
nay, but  as  handsome  as  he,  and  assuredly  more  of  a  states- 
man, raised  as  he  had  been  in  the  school  of  the  popes. 

Cardinal  Pole  was  so  much  the  more  to  be  feared  that, 
before  being  crowned,  Mary  Tudor,  with  or  without  inten- 
tion, had  written  to  Pope  Julius  III.  to  send  Cardinal  Pole 
to  her  as  apostolic  legate  in  order  that  the  latter  might  labor 
with  her  in  the  holy  task  of  re-establishing  their  religion. 
Luckily  for  Charles  V.,  the  Pope,  who  knew  what  Pole  had 
to  suffer  under  Henry  "VIII. ,  and  what  dangers  he  had  en- 
countered, hesitated  sending  all  at  once,  in  the  midst  of  the 
fermentation  that  reigned  in  England,  a  prelate  of  his  distinc- 
tion. He  despatched,  therefore,  first,  John  Francis  Com- 
mendon,  master  of  the  chamber,  to  act  near  Mary;  but  the 
queen  wanted  Pole,  and  not  Commendon.  She  dismissed 
the  latter,  begging  him  to  hasten  the  arrival  of  the  cardinal. 

Pole  started;  but  the  Emperor  had  his  spies  at  Eome. 
He  was  informed  of  this  departure;  and  as  the  legate  a 
atere  was  to  cross  Germany,  and  pass  by  Innspruck,  Charles 
V.  ordered  Mendoza,  who  commanded  a  body  of  cavalry 
in  this  city,  to  arrest  Cardinal  Pole  on  his  passage,  on  the 
ground  that  he  was  too  nearly  related  to  the  queen  to  give 
her  disinterested  advice  in  the  matter  of  her  marriage  with 
Don  Philip. 

Mendoza  was  the  kind  of  captain  needed  by  princes  in 
such  circumstances.  He  had  ears  only  for  the  word  of  com- 
mand. His  orders  were  to  arrest  Cardinal  Pole;  he  arrested 
him  and  kept  him  prisoner  until  the  articles  of  the  marriage 
contract  between  Philip  of  Spain  and  Mary  of  England  were 

These  articles  being  signed,  he  was  released.  Pole  took 
it  as  a  man  of  good  sense  should,  and  filled  the  office  of 
legate  a  latere  not  only  to  Mary,  but  to  Philip. 


One  of  the  articles  declared  that  Mary  Tudor,  Queen  of 
England,  could  only  marry  a  king;  this  did  not  embarrass 
Charles  Y. ;  he  made  his  son  Philip  king  of  Naples. 

This  success  somewhat  consoled  the  Emperor,  saddened 
by  the  two  checks  he  had  experienced:  the  one  at  Inns- 
pruck,  where,  surprised  in  the  night  by  Duke  Maurice,  he 
had  fled  so  precipitately  that  he  forgot  he  had  put  on  his 
baldrick  and  forgotten  his  sword;  the  other  before  Metz, 
the  siege  of  which  he  had  been  forced  to  raise,  abandon- 
ing, in  the  slush  and  mud  caused  by  a  thaw,  his  cannon, 
war  material,  and  a  third  of  his  army. 

"Oh,"  he  cried,  "fortune  is  then  returning  to  me  at  last!" 

Finally,  on  the  24th  of  July,  1554— that  is  to  say,  nine 
months  before  the  period  at  which  we  are  arrived — the  very 
day  of  the  feast  of  Saint-James,  protector  of  Spain,  Mary  of 
England  was  united  to  Philip  of  Spain.  She  who  might  be 
called  the  Tigress  of  the  North  was  united  to  him  who  was 
to  be  the  Demon  of  the  South.  Philip  set  out  from  Spain 
accompanied  by  twenty-two  vessels  of  war,  carrying  six 
thousand  men;  but  before  entering  Hampton  port,  he  dis- 
missed all  these,  having  decided  to  approach  England  with 
only  the  ships  which  Queen  Mary  sent  to  meet  him.  These 
numbered  eighteen.  They  were  preceded  by  the  largest 
vessel  ever  built  in  England,  and  which  was  launched 
for  this  occasion. 

The  vessels  advanced  to  meet  the  prince  a  distance  of 
three  leagues  from  the  shore;  and  there,  amid  discharges 
of  artillery  and  rolling  of  drums  and  flourishes  of  clarions, 
Philip  passed  from  his  own  ship  into  that  supplied  by  his 

He  was  followed  by  sixty  gentlemen,  twelve  being 
grandees  of  Spain;  among  them,  the  Duke  of  Medina-Creli 
and  Euy  Gomez  de  Silva  had  each  forty  pages  and  valets. 
"In  fine,  it  was  reckoned  a  marvellous  thing,  and  what 
was  never  before  seen,"  says  Gregorio  Leti,  the  historian 
of  Charles  V.,  "that  these  sixty  lords  had  among  them 
twelve  hundred  and  thirty  pages  and  attendants."  The 


marriage  was  celebrated  at  Windsor.  Those  who  wish  to 
know  how  Queen  Mary  met  her  husband,  what  robe  she 
wore,  what  jewels  adorned  her,  what  was  the  form  of  the 
amphitheatre  surmounted  by  two  thrones  which  awaited 
the  two  spouses;  those  who  wish  to  penetrate  further  still, 
and  learn  the  manner  in  which  Mass  was  celebrated,  the 
manner  in  which  their  Majesties  sat  down  to  table,  in  fine, 
that  in  which  "they  arose  so  adroitly  from  table,  that  al- 
though there  were  before  them  a  quantity  of  lords  and 
ladies,  they  disappeared  through  a  secret  door,  and  with- 
drew into  their  chamber" — will  find  these  details  and  many 
others  in  the  historian  we  have  just  quoted. 

As  to  ourselves,  interesting  and  picturesque  as  those  de- 
tails are,  they  would  lead  us  too  far,  and  we  shall  return 
to  the  King  of  England  and  Naples,  Philip  II.,  who,  after 
nine  months  of  marriage,  appeared  again  on  the  Continent, 
and  at  the  moment  when  he  was  least  expected,  arrived,  as 
we  have  said,  at  the  barriers  of  the  camp,  saluted  by  the 
rolling  of  drums,  the  flourishes  of  trumpets,  and  by  the 
cheers  of  the  German  and  Spanish  soldiers  who  joined 
his  train. 

Charles  V.  had  been  one  of  the  first  to  be  informed  of 
the  unexpected  arrival  of  his  son;  and  glad  that  Philip  had 
no  motive  (so  it  appeared,  at  least)  for  concealing  his  pres- 
ence from  him  in  Flanders,  since  he  was  come  to  find  him 
in  his  camp,  he  made  an  effort,  and,  supported  by  the  arms 
of  one  of  his  officers,  he  dragged  himself  to  the  door  of  his 

He  was  hardly  there  when  he  perceived  Don  Philip  ad- 
vancing toward  him,  amid  shouts,  drums  and  trumpets,  as 
if  he  were  already  master  and  lord. 

"Well,  well,"  murmured  Charles  Y.,  "it  is  the  will 
of  God!"  But  as  soon  as  Philip  perceived  his  father,  he 
brought  his  horse  to  a  standstill,  and  leaped  to  the  ground; 
then  approaching,  with  his  arms  stretched  out  and  head 
uncovered  and  bent,  he  threw  himself  at  the  feet  of  the 


This  humility  chased  every  bad  thought  from  the  mind 
of  Charles  V:  He  raised  Philip,  pressed  him  in  his  arms, 
and,  turning  toward  those  who  formed  the  train  of  the 
prince — 

"Thanks,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  "for  having  divined  the 
joy  the  presence  of  my  beloved  son  was  to  cause,  and  for 
having  announced  it  beforehand  by  your  cheers  and  hur- 
rahs."  Then  to  his  son,  "Don  Philip,"  he  said,  "it  is 
nearly  five  years  since  we  have  seen  each  other;  come, 
we  have  many  things  to  converse  about." 

And  saluting  all  this  crowd,  soldiers  and  officers  assem- 
bled before  his  tent,  he  leaned  on  the  arm  of  his  son,  and 
returned  to  the  pavilion  amid  cries  a  thousand  times  re- 
peated of  "Long  live  the  King  of  England!"  and  "Long 
live  the  Emperor  of  Germany!"  and  "Long  live  Don 
Philip!"  and  "Long  live  Charles  V. !" 

In  fact,  as  the  Emperor  had  presupposed,  Philip  had 
very  many  things  to  say  to  him.  And  yet,  after  Charles 
V.  was  seated  on  the  divan,  and  Philip,  refusing  the  honor 
of  sitting  beside  his  father,  had  taken  a  chair,  there  was 
a  moment's  silence. 

It  was  Charles  Y.  who  first  broke  this  silence,  which 
Philip  had  kept  perhaps  through  respect  for  his  father. 

"My  son,"  said  the  Emperor,  "nothing  but  your  dear 
presence  could  dissipate  the  bad  impression  produced  on 
me  by  the  ill  news  received  to-day." 

"The  most  fatal  news  of  all  was  already  known  to  me, 
as  you  can  see  by  my  garb,  my  father, ' '  answered  Philip ; 
"we  have  had  the  misfortune  to  lose,  you  a  mother,  I  a 
grandmother. ' ' 

"You  have  learned  this  news  in  Belgium,  have  you  not, 
my  son?" 

Philip  bowed. 

"In  England,  sire,  our  communications  with  Spain  are 
quite  direct,  while  the  courier  your  Majesty  has  received 
has  been  obliged  to  come  here  from  Grenoa  by  land;  this 
must  have  delayed  him." 


"Yes,  it  must  be  as  you  say,"  said  Charles  Y. ;  "but 
[i part  from  this  motive  of  sorrow,  my  son,  I  have  another 
subject  for  anxiety." 

"Does  your  Majesty  wish  to  speak  of  the  election  of 
Paul  IV.,  and  of  the  league  he  has  proposed  to  the  King 
of  France — a  league  which  must  be  signed  at  this  hour?" 

Charles  V.  regarded  Don  Philip  with  astonishment. 

"My  son,"  said  he,  "is  it  also  an  English  vessel  which 
has  made  you  as  well  informed  as  you  are  on  this  point? 
The  passage,  however,  from  Civita  Vecchia  to  Portsmouth 
is  long. ' ' 

' '  No,  sire,  the  news  has  come  to  us  from  France ;  hence 
it  happens  that  I  know  it  before  you.  The  passages  of  the 
Alps  and  Tyrol  are  still  encumbered  with  snows,  and  have 
delayed  your  messenger;  while  ours  came  straight  from 
Ostia  to  Marseilles,  from  Marseilles  to  Boulogne,  and  from 
Boulogne  to  London." 

Charles  V.  frowned.  He  had  long  believed  it  was  his 
right  to  be  informed  of  every  grave  event  that  happened 
in  the  world;  and  here  was  his  son,  who  knew  before  him, 
not  only  the  death  of  Queen  Juana  and  the  election  of  Paul 
IV.,  but  announced  to  him  a  thing  of  which  he  was  igno- 
rant; namely,  the  league  signed  between  Henri  II.  and  the 
new  Pope. 

But  Philip  did  not  appear  to  perceive  the  astonishment 
of  his  father. 

" For  that  matter, "  he  continued,  "all  measures  were  so 
well  taken  by  Caraffa  and  his  partisans  that  the  treaty  was 
sent  to  the  King  of  France  during  the  conclave.  This  ex- 
plains the  boldness  with  which,  after  taking  Marienbourg, 
Henri  II.  marched  on  Bouvines  and  on  Dinant,  with  the 
aim,  no  doubt,  of  cutting  off  your  retreat. ' ' 

"Oh,  oh!"  exclaimed  Charles,  "has  he  advanced  as  far 
as  you  say,  and  am  I  threatened  with  a  new  surprise  like 
that  of  Innspruck?" 

"No,"  said  Philip,  "for  I  hope  your  Majesty  will  not 
refuse  to  conclude  a  truce  with  Henri  II." 


"By  my  soul!"  cried  the  Emperor,  "I  should  be  very 
foolish  if  I  refused  it,  and  even  if  I  did  not  propose  it." 

"Sire,"  said  Philip,  "such  a  truce  proposed  by  you 
would  render  the  King  of  France  too  proud.  And  so 
Queen  Mary  and  I  have  had  the  idea  of  devoting  our- 
selves to  this  task  in  the  interest  of  your  dignity." 

"And  you  are  come  to  ask  from  me  authority  to  act? 
Be  it  so :  act ;  lose  no  time ;  send  the  most  skilful  ambassa- 
dors to  France — they  can  never  arrive  too  soon. ' ' 

"It  is  what  we  have  thought  of,  sire;  and  we  have  sent, 
reserving  to  your  Majesty  full  liberty  to  repudiate  us,  Car- 
dinal Pole  to  King  Henri  to  ask  a  truce. ' ' 

Charles  shook  his  head. 

"He  will  not  arrive  in  time,"  he  said;  "and  Henri  will 
be  in  Brussels  before  Pole  has  landed  at  Calais. ' ' 

"Consequently  Pole  has  gone  by  Ostend,  and  has  joined 
the  King  of  France  at  Dinant. " 

"However  able  a  negotiator  he  may  be,"  said  Charles  V., 
with  a  sigh,  "I  doubt  of  his  success  in  such  a  negotiation." 

"I  am  then  very  happy  to  announce  to  your  Majesty  that 
he  has  succeeded,"  said  Philip.  "The  King  of  France  ac- 
cepts, if  not  a  truce,  at  least  a  suspension  of  arms,  during 
which  the  conditions  of  a  truce  will  be  regulated.  The 
monastery  of  Yocelles,  near  Cambrai,  has  been  selected  by 
him  as  the  place  where  the  conferences  are  to  be  held,  and 
Cardinal  Pole,  on  coming  to  Brussels  to  announce  to  me  the 
result  of  his  mission,  told  me  he  did  not  believe  there  would 
be  any  difficulty  in  coming  to  an  arrangement. ' ' 

Charles  Y.  regarded  Philip  with  a  certain  admiration; 
the  latter,  in  the  most  humble  fashion  imaginable,  had  just 
announced  to  him  the  happy  issue  of  a  negotiation  which 
he  had  regarded  as  impossible. 

"What  will  be  the  duration  of  this  truce?"  he  said. 

"Real  or  conventional?" 


4 '  Five  years,  sire. ' ' 

"And  real?" 


"As  long  as  it  shall  please  God." 

"And  how  long  do  you  believe,  Don  Philip,  that  its 
continuance  is  likely  to  be  pleasing  to  God?" 

"Why,"  said  the  King  of  England,  with  an  impercep- 
tible smile,  "just  the  time  necessary  for  you  to  draw  from 
Spain  a  reinforcement  of  ten  thousand  Spaniards  and  for  me 
to  send  you  ten  thousand  Englishmen  from  England. ' ' 

"My  son,"  said  Charles  V.,  "this  truce  was  my  most 
ardent  desire ;  and  as  it  is  you  who  have  made  it,  I  promise 
you  that  it  shall  be  you  who  will  keep  it  or  break  it  accord- 
ing to  your  good  pleasure. ' ' 

"I  do  not  understand  what  my  august  emperor  means," 
said  Philip,  whose  self-control  could  not  prevent  him  from 
darting  from  his  eyes  a  flash  of  hope  and  covetousness. 

He  had  just  got  a  glimpse,  almost  within  reach  of  his 
hand,  of  the  sceptre  of  Spain  and  the  Low  Countries,  and — 
who  knows  ? — perhaps  of  the  imperial  crown. 

Eight  days  after,  a  truce  was  signed  in  these  terms: 

1 '  There  shall  be  a  truce  for  five  years,  as  well  on  sea  as 
on  land,  to  be  equally  enjoyed  by  all  the  people,  states, 
kingdoms,  and  provinces  of  the  Emperor,  the  King  of 
France,  and  King  Philip. 

"During  all  this  space  of  time  of  five  years,  there  shall 
be  a  suspension  of  hostilities,  and,  however,  each  of  these 
potentates  shall  keep  whatever  he  has  taken  in  the  course 
of  the  war. 

"His  Holiness  Paul  IY.  is  comprehended  in  this  truce." 

Philip  himself  presented  this  treaty  to  the  Emperor,  who 
cast  an  almost  frightened  glance  on  the  impassive  counte- 
nance of  his  son. 

All  that  was  wanting  to  the  treaty  was  the  signature  of 
Charles  V. 

Charles  Y.  signed. 

Then,  when  with  infinite  difficulty  he  had  traced  the 
seven  letters  of  his  name — 

"Sire,"  said  he,  giving  for  the  first  time  this  title  to  his 
son,  "return  to  London,  and  be  ready  to  meet  me  at  Brus- 
sels on  my  first  summons. ' ' 




ON  FEIDAY  the  25th.  of  October,  1555,  there  were 
great  crowds  in  the  streets  of  the  city  of  Brussels, 
not  only  of  the  people  of  the  capital  of  southern 
Brabant,  but  of  the  other  Flemish  states  of  the  Emperor 
Charles  V. 

All  this  multitude  was  pressing  toward  the  royal  palace, 
which  no  longer  exists,  but  which  then  towered  over  the 
city  from  the  summit  of  Caudenberg. 

The  occasion  of  this  excitement  was  that  a  great  assem- 
bly, the  cause  of  which  was  yet  unknown,  had  been  con- 
voked by  the  Emperor,  and,  having  been  adjourned  once 
before,  was  to  be  held  to-day. 

For  this  reason,  the  interior  of  the  grand  hall  had  been 
adorned  and  hung  with  tapestry  on  the  eastern  side — that  is 
to  say,  in  the  direction  of  the  barriers — and  a  sort  of  scaffold 
had  been  there  constructed,  covered  with  magnificent  carpets 
and  surmounted  by  a  dais  with  the  imperial  arms,  protect- 
ing three  armchairs,  empty  for  the  time,  but  evidently  des- 
tined to  be  soon  occupied:  that  in  the  centre  by  the  Em- 
peror, that  on  the  right  by  Don  Philip,  who  had  arrived  the 
evening  before,  and  that  on  the  left  by  Charles  Y. 's  sister, 
Mary  of  Austria,  Queen  Dowager  of  Hungary. 

Benches  were  arranged  parallel  to  these  three  chairs,  and 
formed  with  them  a  kind  of  hemicycle. 

Other  seats  were  placed  in  front  of  the  platform,  arranged 
like  the  benches  in  a  theatre. 

King  Philip,  Queen  Mary,  Queen  Eleonore,  widow  of 
Frangois  L,  Maximilian,  King  of  Bohemia,  Christina, 


Duchesse  de  Lorraine,  had  taken  possession  of  their  apart- 
ments at  the  palace.  Charles  alone  continued  to  inhabit 
what  he  called  his  little  house  in  the  park. 

At  four  in  the  afternoon  he  left  this  little  house,  mounted 
on  a  mule,  whose  gentle  pace  made  him  suffer  less  than  any 
other  mode  of  locomotion.  As  to  going  on  foot,  it  was  im- 
possible to  dream  of  it:  the  attacks  of  the  gout  had  re- 
doubled in  violence;  and  the  Emperor  was  not  sure  even 
that  he  could  walk  from  the  threshold  of  the  door  to  the 
scaffold  of  the  grand  hall,  or  that  he  would  not  have  to  be 
carried  during  that  short  passage.  Kings  and  princes  fol- 
lowed the  mule  of  the  Emperor  on  foot. 

The  Emperor  was  clad  in  the  imperial  cope,  all  of  cloth 
of  gold,  over  which  fell  the  grand  cordon  of  the  Golden 
Fleece.  He  had  the  crown  on  his  head;  but  the  sceptre, 
which  his  hand  had  no  longer  the  strength  to  bear,  was 
carried  before  him  on  a  cushion  of  red  velvet. 

The  persons  who  were  to  occupy  the  benches  placed  on 
both  sides  of  the  armchairs  and  in  front  of  the  platform  had 
been  introduced  previously  into  the  hall. 

There  were,  on  the  right  of  the  armchairs,  the  knights 
of  the  Golden  Fleece,  seated  on  a  tapestried  bench. 

On  the  bench  on  the  left,  also  tapestried,  were  the 
princes,  the  grandees  of  Spain,  and  the  lords. 

Behind  them,  on  other  benches  not  tapestried,  were  the 
three  councils  —the  council  of  state,  the  privy  council,  and 
the  council  of  finance. 

Finally,  on  other  benches  placed  in  front,  were,  first, 
the  states  of  Brabant,  then  the  states  of  Flanders,  then  the 
other  states  according  to  their  rank. 

The  galleries  around  the  hall  had  been  packed  with 
spectators  since  morning. 

The  Emperor  entered  at  a  quarter  past  four;  he  was 
leaning  on  the  shoulder  of  William  of  Orange,  surnamed 
later  on  The  Taciturn. 

Beside  William  of  Orange  walked  Emmanuel  Philibert, 
accompanied  by  his  squire  and  page. 


On  the  other  side,  in  front  of  kings  and  princes,  some 
steps  to  the  right  of  the  Emperor,  appeared  a  man  of  from 
thirty  to  thirty-five  years,  unknown  to  every  one,  and  who 
seemed  as  much  astonished  at  finding  himself  there  as  the 
spectators  seemed  to  be  at  his  presence  on  the  occasion. 

It  was  Odoardo  Maraviglia,  drawn  from  his  prison,  clad 
in  a  magnificent  garb,  and  led  here  without  knowing  where 
he  was  going  or  what  was  wanted  with  him. 

On  the  appearance  of  the  Emperor  and  his  august  suite, 
every  one  rose. 

The  Emperor  advanced  to  the  front  of  the  platform, 
walking  with  great  difficulty,  supported'  though  he  was. 
It  was  evident  that  great  courage,  and  especially  great 
habitual  endurance,  were  needed  to  prevent  him  from 
uttering  a  groan  at  every  step  he  took. 

He  sat  down,  having  King  Philip  on  his  right  and  Queen 
Mary  on  his  left. 

Then  on  a  sign  from  him,  each  did  the  same,  except  on 
the  one  side,  the  Prince  of  Orange,  Emmanuel  Philibert, 
and  the  two  persons  forming  his  suite,  and  on  the  other, 
Odoardo  Maraviglia,  who,  free,  and  dressed,  as  we  have 
said,  in  a  magnificent  costume,  was  looking  at  the  spectacle 
with  astonished  eyes. 

When  everybody  was  seated,  the  Emperor  made  a  sign 
to  Councillor  Philibert  Brussellius  to  open  the  proceedings. 

Every  one  was  in  a  state  of  anxious  expectation.  The 
countenance  of  Philip  alone  remained  calm  and  impassive. 
His  eye  seemed  to  see  nothing;  it  could  be  hardly  guessed 
if  the  blood  circulated  under  that  pale  and  inanimate  skin. 
The  orator  explained  in  a  few  words  that  the  kings,  princes, 
grandees  of  Spain,  knights  of  the  Golden  Fleece,  and  the 
members  of  the  states  of  Flanders  present  in  the  hall,  had 
been  convoked  to  assist  at  the  abdication  of  the  Emperor 
Charles  Y.  in  favor  of  his  son  Don  Philip,  who,  starting 
from  this  moment,  succeeded  him  in  his  titles  of  King  of 
Castile,  Leon,  Granada,  Navarre,  Aragon,  Naples,  Sicily, 
Majorca,  the  isles,  Indias,  and  lands  of  the  Pacific  and 

158       THE  PAGE  OF  THE  DUKE  OF  SAVOY 

Atlantic  Oceans,  and  in  those  of  Archduke  of  Austria, 
Duke  of  Burgundy,  Lothier,  Brabant,  Luisbourg,  Luxem- 
burg, and  Quelieres;  of  Count  of  Flanders,  Artois,  and 
Burgundy;  of  Palatine  of  Hainault,  Zeland,  Holland,  Feu- 
rette,  Haguenau,  Namur,  and  Zutphen;  in  fine,  of  those 
of  Prince  of  Zuane,  Marquis  of  the  Holy  Empire,  Lord  of 
Frise,  Salmi,  Malines,  and  of  the  cities  and  countries 
of  Utrecht,  Overyssel,  and  Groeningen. 

The  imperial  crown  was  reserved  for  Ferdinand,  already 
King  of  the  Eomans. 

At  this  reservation,  a  livid  pallor  overspread  the  face  of 
Don  Philip,  and  a  slight  trembling  sent  a  shiver  through 
the  muscles  of  his  cheeks. 

This  abdication,  at  which  all  held  their  breath  in  aston- 
ishment, was  attributed  by  the  orator  to  the  Emperor's  de- 
sire to  revisit  Spain,  which  he  had  not  seen  since  twelve 
years,  and  particularly  to  the  sufferings  he  experienced 
from  the  gout — sufferings  increased  by  the  rigorous  climate 
of  Flanders  and  Germany.  He  finished  by  praying,  in  the 
name  of  the  Emperor,  the  states  of  Flanders  to  take  in  good 
part  this  cession  which  he  made  of  them  to  his  son  Don 

After  concluding  the  discourse  with  a  peroration  in 
which  he  called  upon  God  to  have  the  august  Emperor 
always  under  his  safeguard  and  protection,  Philibert  Brus- 
sellius  was  silent,  and  resumed  his  seat. 

Then  the  Emperor  rose  in  his  turn;  he  was  pale,  and  the 
perspiration  of  suffering  bedewed  his  countenance.  He 
wished  to  speak,  and  held  in  his  hand  a  paper  on  which 
he  had  written  his  discourse,  in  case  his  memory  failed 

At  the  first  sign  shown  by  him  of  his  intention  to  speak, 
the  confused  murmurs  which  had  run  through  the  hall  at  the 
close  of  the  discourse  of  Councillor  Brussellius  ceased  as  if 
by  enchantment;  and  weak  as  the  Emperor's  voice  was,  the 
moment  he  opened  his  mouth,  a  single  word  of  what  he  said 
was  not  lost.  It  is  true  that  as  he  progressed  in  his  speech, 


and  as  lie  recalled  his  toils,  his  dangers,  his  great  deeds,  and 
his  plans,  his  voice  rose,  his  gestures  had  a  larger  sweep,  his 
eyes  became  singularly  animated,  and  his  accent  had  some 
of  those  solemn  intonations  often  heard  in  the  last  words  of 
the  dying. 

"Dear  friends,"  he  said,1  "you  have  just  heard  the  mo- 
tives which  have  led  me  to  decide  on  resigning  the  sceptre 
and  the  crown  into  the  hands  of  my  son.  Let  me  add  some 
words  which  will  make  clearer  to  your  eyes  my  resolution 
and  my  thought.  Dear  friends,  several  of  those  who  are 
listening  to  me  to-day  must  remember  that  it  is  just  forty 
years  ago  on  the  5th  of  January  last,  since  my  grandfather, 
the  Emperor  Maximilian,  of  glorious  memory,  released  me 
from  his  guardianship,  and  in  this  very  hall,  at  this  very 
hour,  when  I  reckoned  hardly  fifteen  years,  made  me  master 
of  all  my  rights.  In  the  following  year,  King  Ferdinand 
the  Catholic,  my  maternal  grandfather,  being  dead,  1  was 
crowned,  being  then  only  sixteen  years  old. 

"My  mother  was  alive;  but,  though  living  and  though 
still  young,  her  mind,  as  you  know,  was  so  much  affected 
by  the  death  of  her  husband  that  she  did  not  feel  in  a  con- 
dition to  rule  by  herself  the  kingdoms  of  her  father  and 
mother,  and  it  became  necessary  for  me,  at  seventeen  years, 
to  begin  my  journeys  across  the  seas  by  setting  out  in  order 
to  take  possession  of  the  "kingdom  of  Spain.  Finally,  when 
my  grandfather,  the  Emperor  Maximilian,  died,  thirty-six 
years  ago — I  was  nineteen  then — I  ventured  to  become  a 
candidate  for  the  imperial  crown  he  had  worn,  not  from 
the  desire  of  ruling  over  a  larger  number  of  countries,  but 
in  order  to  watch  more  efficaciously  over  the  safety  of  Ger- 
many, of  my  other  realms,  and  particularly  of  my  beloved 

"It  was  with  this  object  I  undertook  and  accomplished 

1  We  have  made  no  alteration  in  the  discourse  of  the  Emperor,  which  we 
borrow  from  a  work  published  in  1830  at  Brussels,  by  the  learned  conservator 
of  the  archives  of  the  kingdom,  M.  L.  P.  G-achard. 


so  many  journeys;  count  them,  and  you  will  be  yourselves 
astonished  at  their  number  and  extent. 

"I  have  passed  nine  times  into  upper  Germany,  six  times 
into  Spain,  seven  times  into  Italy,  ten  times  into  Belgium, 
four  times  into  France,  twice  into  England,  and  twice  into 
Africa,  which  makes  in  all  forty  voyages  or  expeditions. 
Besides  these  forty  voyages  or  expeditions,  I  have  made 
journeys  to  visit  islands  and  provinces  brought  under  my 

"For  the  latter  purpose,  I  have  traversed  the  Mediter-. 
raneaii  eight  times  and  the  Western  Sea  three  times,  which 
I  am  making  ready  to  cross  to-day  for  the  last  time. 

"I  pass  under  silence  my  journey  through  France,  which 
I  made  from  Spain  to  the  Low  Countries — a  journey  ren- 
dered necessary,  as  you  know,  by  grave  motives. ' 

,UI  have  been  forced,  on  account  of  these  numerous  and 
long  absences,  to  place  at  the  head  of  the  government  of 
these  provinces,  madame,  my  good  sister,  the  queen  here 
present.  Now  I  know,  and  the  different  orders  of  the  state 
know  as  well  as  I,  how  she  has  acquitted  herself  of  these 

"I  have,  at  the  same  time  I  made  these  journeys,  carried 
on  many  wars ;  all  these  enterprises  have  been  undertaken 
or  accepted  against  my  will;  and  what  afflicts  me  to-day  on 
bidding  you  farewell,  my  dear  friends,  is  not  to  be  able  to 
leave  you  a  peace  more  stable,  an  assurance  of  more  certain 
tranquillity.  .  .  .  All  these  things  have  not  been  done,  as 
you  may  well  think,  without  protracted  toils  and  great 
fatigue;  and  the  heaviness  of  that  fatigue,  the  burden  of 
those  toils,  can  be  measured  by  seeing  my  paleness  and 
my  feebleness.  Consequently,  let  no  one  believe  me  so 
ignorant  of  myself  as  not,  when  comparing  the  responsi- 
bilities thrust  upon  me  by  events  with  the  strength  granted 
me  by  God,  to  have  comprehended  my  insufficiency  for  the 
mission  given  me. 

1  The  revolt  of  the  people  of  Ghent. 


' '  But  it  seems  to  me  that,  on  account  of  the  mental  state 
of  my  mother  and  the  tender  age  of  my  son,  it  would  have 
been  a  crime  to  lay  down  the  burden  before  the  proper  hour, 
however  heavy  it  might  be,  which  Providence,  in  giving 
me  the  crown  and  sceptre,  had  imposed  on  my  head  and 
on  my  arm. 

"However,  when  I  last  quitted  Flanders  to  go  into  Ger- 
many, I  had  already  the  project  of  accomplishing  the  pur- 
pose which  I  execute  to-day;  but,  seeing  the  miserable 
condition  of  affairs,  feeling  that  I  had  still  a  remnant  of 
strength,  moved  by  the  disturbances  which  agitated  the 
Christian  republic,  attacked  at  the  same  time  by  the  Luth- 
erans and  the  Turks,  I  my  duty  to  put  off  the 
time  for  repose,  and  to  sacrifice  to  my  subjects  whatever 
remained  to  me  of  strength  and  existence.  I  was  nearly 
attaining  my  aim,  however,  when  the  German  princes  and 
the  King  of  France,  in  violation  of  their  pledged  word, 
flung  me  back  into  the  midst  of  troubles  and  battles.  The 
former  attacked  my  person,  and  almost  succeeded  in  making 
me  a  prisoner  in  Innspruck ;  the  latter  took  possession  of 
Metz,  which  belonged  to  the  domain  of  the  Empire.  I  hast- 
ened to  besiege  it  myself  with  a  numerous  army.  I  was 
conquered  and  my  army  destroyed;  but  it  was  not  by  men, 
it  was  by  the  elements.  To  counterbalance  the  loss  of  Metz, 
I  wrested  Therouanne  and  Hesdin  from  the  French.  I  did 
more :  I  met  the  King  of  France  at  Valenciennes,  and  forced 
him  to  withdraw,  doing  all  I  could  at  the  battle  of  Kenty,  in 
despair  of  not  being  able  to  do  more. 

"But  to-day,  besides  the  insufficiency  which  I  have 
recognized  in  myself,  the  disease  with  which  I  am  afflicted 
is  become  more  acute,  and  prostrates  me. 

"Happily,  at  the  very  moment  God  takes  from  me  a 
mother,  he  gives  me  a  son  of  an  age  to  govern.  Now  that 
my  strength  fails  me  and  that  death  is  approaching,  I  do 
not  care  «o  prefer  the  love  and  passion  for  sovereignty 
to  the  good  and  to  the  repose  of  my  subjects.  Instead  of 
an  infirm  old  man  who  has  already  seen  descend  into  the 


And  indeed  it  was  a  great  spectacle  given  to  the  world, 
that  of  this  sovereign,  warrior,  and  Csesar,  who,  after  forty 
years  of  such  power  as  few  men  had  ever  received  from 
Providence,  descended  voluntarily  from  the  throne,  and, 
weary  in  body  and  crushed  in  spirit,  proclaimed  with  a  loud 
voice  the  nothingness  of  human  greatness  in  presence  of  the 
successor  to  whom  he  abandoned  it. 

But  a  spectacle  greater  still  was  to  come — the  one  just 
promised  by  the  Emperor — it  was  that  of  a  man  publicly 
acknowledging  a  fault  committed,  and  asking  pardon  of 
him  to  whom  the  wrong  had  been  done. 

The  Emperor  understood  that  this  was  expected  of  him; 
and,  mustering  all  his  strength,  he  gently  pushed  his  son 
away  from  him. 

It  was  seen  that  he  was  going  to  .speak  a  second  time, 
and  there  was  silence. 

"Dear  friends,"  resumed  the  Emperor,  "I  promised  just 
now  a  public  reparation  to  a  man  I  had  offended.  Be  ye 
all  witnesses,  therefore,  that  after  boasting  of  what  I  have 
done  well,  I  have  accused  myself  of  what  I  have  done  ill. ' ' 

Then,  turning  to  the  unknown  man  in  the  magnificent 
costume,  whom  every  one  had  already  remarked — 

"Odoardo  Maraviglia,"  he  said  in  a  firm  voice,  "ap- 
proach. ' ' 

The  young  man  to  whom  this  formal  invitation  was  ad- 
dressed grew  pale,  and,  tottering,  approached  Charles  V. 

"Count,"  said  the  Emperor,  "I  have  done  you  serious 
wrong,  whether  voluntarily  or  involuntarily,  in  the  person 
of  your  father,  who  suffered  a  cruel  death  in  the  prisons  of 
Milan.  Often  has  this  act  been  presented  to  me  veiled  by 
uncertainty.  To-day  it  appears  to  me  like  a  spectre  clad 
in  the  winding-sheet  of  remorse.  Comte  Maraviglia,  here, 
in  the  face  of,  beneath  the  eyes  of,  men  and  of  God,  at  the 
moment  when  about  to  lay  aside  the  imperial  mantle,  which 
for  thirty-six  years  has  weighed  upon  my  shoulders,  I  hum- 
ble myself  before  you,  and  pray  you  not  only  to  grant  mo 
pardon,  but  further  to  ask  it  for  me  of  the  Lord,  who  will 


perhaps  sooner  grant  it  to  the  petitions  of  the  victim  than 
to  the  supplications  of  the  murderer. ' ' 

Odoardo  Maraviglia  uttered  a  cry  and  fell  oh  his  knees. 

"Magnificent  Emperor,"  he  said,  "it  is  not  without 
reason  that  the  world  has  given  you  the  name  of  august. 
Oh,  yes,  yes !  I  pardon  you  in  the  name  of  my  father  and 
in  my  own  name !  Yes ;  God  will  pardon  you.  But  from 
whom  shall  I  seek  that  pardon,  august  Emperor,  which  I  no 
longer  grant  myself?" 

Then,  rising,  "Gentlemen,"  said  Maraviglia,  turning  to- 
ward the  assembly — "gentlemen,  you  behold  in  me  a  man 
who  tried  to  assassinate  the  Emperor,  and  whom  the  Em- 
peror has  not  only  pardoned,  but  of  whom  he  has  asked 
pardon. ' ' 

' '  King  Don  Philip, ' '  he  added,  bending  before  him  who 
from  that  moment  was  to  be  called  Philip  II.,  "the  mur- 
derer places  himself  in  your  hands. ' ' 

' '  My  son, ' '  said  Charles  V. ,  whose  strength  was  failing 
him  for  the  second  time,  "I  recommend  to  you  this  man; 
let  his  life  be  sacred  to  you!" 

And  he  fell  back  almost  fainting  on  his  armchair. 

"Ah,  my  dear  Emmanuel!"  said  the  page  of  the  Duke 
of  Savoy,  who  managed  to  reach  the  prince  on  account  of 
the  commotion  occasioned  by  the  Emperor's  faintness,  "how 
good  you  are !  how  great !  how  I  recognize  you  in  what  has 

And  before  Emmanuel  Philibert  could  prevent  it,  Leone- 
Leona  had  kissed  his  hands  almost  with  as  much  respect  as 

The  ceremony,  a  moment  interrupted  by  the  unforeseen 
accident  we  have  related,  which  was  not  the  least  affecting 
of  the  scenes  of  that  solemn  day,  was  about  to  resume  its 
course;  for,  in  order  that  the  abdication  might  be  complete, 
after  Charles  V.  had  given,  it  was  necessary  that  Philip 
should  accept. 

Philip,  who  had  made  a  sign  of  assent  to  the  recommen- 
dation of  the  Emperor,  again  bowed  humbly  before  him. 


And  indeed  it  was  a  great  spectacle  given  to  the  world, 
that  of  this  sovereign,  warrior,  and  Csesar,  who,  after  forty 
years  of  such  power  as  few  men  had  ever  received  from 
Providence,  descended  voluntarily  from  the  throne,  and, 
weary  in  body  and  crushed  in  spirit,  proclaimed  with  a  loud 
voice  the  nothingness  of  human  greatness  in  presence  of  the 
successor  to  whom  he  abandoned  it. 

But  a  spectacle  greater  still  was  to  come — the  one  just 
promised  by  the  Emperor — it  was  that  of  a  man  publicly 
acknowledging  a  fault  committed,  and  asking  pardon  of 
him  to  whom  the  wrong  had  been  done. 

The  Emperor  understood  that  this  was  expected  of  him; 
and,  mustering  all  his  strength,  he  gently  pushed  his  son 
away  from  him. 

It  was  seen  that  he  was  going  to  .speak  a  second  time, 
and  there  was  silence. 

"Dear  friends,"  resumed  the  Emperor,  "I  promised  just 
now  a  public  reparation  to  a  man  I  had  offended.  Be  ye 
all  witnesses,  therefore,  that  after  boasting  of  what  I  have 
done  well,  I  have  accused  myself  of  what  I  have  done  ill. ' ' 

Then,  turning  to  the  unknown  man  in  the  magnificent 
costume,  whom  every  one  had  already  remarked — 

"Odoardo  Maraviglia,"  he  said  in  a  firm  voice,  "ap- 
proach. ' ' 

The  young  man  to  whom  this  formal  invitation  was  ad- 
dressed grew  pale,  and,  -tottering,  approached  Charles  Y. 

"Count,"  said  the  Emperor,  "I  have  done  you  serious 
wrong,  whether  voluntarily  or  involuntarily,  in  the  person 
of  your  father,  who  suffered  a  cruel  death  in  the  prisons  of 
Milan.  Often  has  this  act  been  presented  to  me  veiled  by 
uncertainty.  To-day  it  appears  to  me  like  a  spectre  clad 
in  the  winding-sheet  of  remorse.  Comte  Maraviglia,  here, 
in  the  face  of,  beneath  the  eyes  of,  men  and  of  God,  at  the 
moment  when  about  to  lay  aside  the  imperial  mantle,  which 
ior  thirty-six  years  has  weighed  upon  my  shoulders,  I  hum- 
ble myself  before  you,  and  pray  you  not  only  to  grant  mo 
pardon,  but  further  to  ask  it  for  me  of  the  Lord,  who  will 


perhaps  sooner  grant  it  to  the  petitions  of  the  victim  than 
to  the  supplications  of  the  murderer. ' ' 

Odoardo  Maraviglia  uttered  a  cry  and  fell  oh  his  knees. 

"Magnificent  Emperor,"  he  said,  "it  is  not  without 
reason  that  the  world  has  given  you  the  name  of  august. 
Oh,  yes,  yes !  I  pardon  you  in  the  name  of  my  father  and 
in  my  own  name !  Yes ;  Grod  will  pardon  you.  But  from 
whom  shall  I  seek  that  pardon,  august  Emperor,  which  I  no 
longer  grant  myself?" 

Then,  rising,  "Gentlemen,"  said  Maraviglia,  turning  to- 
ward the  assembly — "gentlemen,  you  behold  in  me  a  man 
who  tried  to  assassinate  the  Emperor,  and  whom  the  Em- 
peror has  not  only  pardoned,  but  of  whom  he  has  asked 
pardon. ' ' 

"King  Don  Philip,"  he  added,  bending  before  him  who 
from  that  moment  was  to  be  called  Philip  II.,  "the  mur- 
derer places  himself  in  your  hands." 

' '  My  son, ' '  said  Charles  V. ,  whose  strength  was  failing 
him  for  the  second  time,  "I  recommend  to  you  this  man; 
let  his  life  be  sacred  to  you!" 

And  he  fell  back  almost  fainting  on  his  armchair. 

"Ah,  my  dear  Emmanuel!"  said  the  page  of  the  Duke 
of  Savoy,  who  managed  to  reach  the  prince  on  account  of 
the  commotion  occasioned  by  the  Emperor's  faintness,  "how 
good  you  are !  how  great !  how  I  recognize  you  in  what  has 

And  before  Emmanuel  Philibert  could  prevent  it,  Leone- 
Leona  had  kissed  his  hands  almost  with  as  much  respect  as 

The  ceremony,  a  moment  interrupted  by  the  unforeseen 
accident  we  have  related,  which  was  not  the  least  affecting 
of  the  scenes  of  that  solemn  day,  was  about  to  resume  its 
course ;  for,  in  order  that  the  abdication  might  be  complete, 
after  Charles  V.  had  given,  it  was  necessary  that  Philip 
should  accept. 

Philip,  who  had  made  a  sign  of  assent  to  the  recommen- 
dation of  the  Emperor,  again  bowed  humbly  before  him, 


and  in  Spanish — a  lan<rii;i,u-<'  which  many  of  the  audience 
did  not  speak,  but  which  almost  all  understood — he  said 
in  a  voice  marked  for  the  first  time  perhaps  by  a  shade  of 
emotion : 

"I  have  not  deserved,  most  invincible  Emperor  and  my 
very  good  father,  I  could  never  have  believed  that  I  should 
deserve,  a  paternal  love  so  great  that  there  assuredly  has 
never  been  anything  like  it  in  the  world,  never,  at  least,  one 
that  has  produced  such  effects  that  it  at  once  covers  me  with 
confusion,  when  I  view  the  little  merit  which  I  have,  and 
fills  me  with  gratitude  and  respect  in  presence  of  your-great- 
ness.  But  since  it  has  pleased  you  to  treat  me  so  tenderly 
and  generously  as  a  consequence  of  your  august  goodness, 
exercise  the  same  goodness,  my  very  dear  father,  by  con- 
tinuing in  the  belief  that  every  effort  shall  be  made  on  my 
part  to  have  your  decision  in  my  favor  universally  approved 
and  accepted,  as  I  intend  governing  in  such  a  manner  as  to 
convince  the  states  of  the  affection  I  have  always  entertained 
for  them." 

At  the  conclusion  of  these  words,  he  kissed  the  hand 
of  his  father  several  times;  while  the  latter,  pressing  him 
to  his  breast,  said — 

"I  wish  you,  my  son,  the  most  precious  blessings  of 
Heaven  and  its  divine  aid." 

Then  Don  Philip  kissed  the  hand  of  his  father  for  the 
last  time,  wiped  a  tear  from  his  eyes  which  probably  was 
not  there,  rose,  turned  toward  the  states,  saluted  them,  and, 
with  his  hat  in  his  hand — the  same  attitude  in  which  all 
were  except  the  Emperor,  who  was  covered  and  seated — he 
pronounced  in  French  the  following  words : 

"Gentlemen,  I  would  that  I  could  speak  better  the  lan- 
guage of  this  country,  in  order  that  you  might  the  better 
understand  the  good  affection  and  favor  I  bear  you.  But 
as  I  do  not  know  it  as  well  as  would  be  necessary  for  my 
purpose,  I  will  ask  the  Bishop  of  Arras  to  act  in  my  name." 

At  the  same  time,  Antoine  Perrenot  de  Grrandville,  who 
was  afterward  cardinal,  took  his  stand  as  interpreter  of  the 


sentiments  of  the  prince.  He  eulogized  the  zeal  of  Don 
Philip  for  the  good  of  his  subjects,  and  expressed  the  reso- 
lution he  had  adopted  of  conforming  exactly  to  the  good 
and  wise  instructions  the  Emperor  had  given  him. 

Then  Queen  Mary,  the  Emperor's  sister,  governess  for 
twenty -six  years  of  the  provinces  of  the  Low  Countries, 
rose  in  turn,  and  in  a  few  words  resigned  into  the  hands 
of  her  nephew  the  regency  which  she  had  received  from 
her  brother. 

After  this,  Philip  swore  to  maintain  the  rights  and  privi- 
leges of  his  subjects,  and  all  the  members  of  the  assembly, 
princes,  grandees  of  Spain,  knights  of  the  Golden  Fleece, 
deputies  of  the  states  either  in  their  own  name  or  in  the 
name  of  those  they  represented,  swore  obedience  to  him. 

This  double  oath  pronounced,  Charles  Y.  rose,  placed 
Don  Philip  on  his  throne,  put  the  crown  on  his  head,  and 
said  in  a  loud  voice — 

"Grant,  O  Lord,  that  this  crown  be  not  for  your  elect 
a  crown  of  thorns!" 

Then  he  made  a  step  toward  the  door. 

Immediately  Don  Philip,  the  Prince  of  Orange,  Emman- 
uel Philibert,  and  all  the  princes  and  lords  rushed  forward 
to  support  the  Emperor;  but  he  made  a  sign  to  Maraviglia, 
who  approached,  hesitating,  for  he  could  not  comprehend 
what  the  Emperor  wanted  with  him. 

The  Emperor  wished  to  have  no  other  support  in  retiring 
than  that  afforded  by  Maraviglia,  for  whose  father's  death 
he  was  responsible,  and  who,  in  retaliation  for  the  bloody 
deed,  had  tried  to  slay  him. 

But,  as  the  second  arm  of  the  Emperor  fell  inert  by  his 
side — 

' '  Sire, ' '  said  Emmanuel  Philibert,  ' '  allow  my  page  Leone 
to  be  the  second  support  on  which  your  Majesty  may  lean; 
and  the  honor  you  do  him,  I  shall  consider  done  to  myself. ' ' 

And  he  pushed  Leone  toward  the  Emperor. 

Charles  V.  looked  at  the  page  and  recognized  him. 

"Ah,  ah!"    he  said  raising  his  arm,  in  order  that  the 


latter  might  present  his  shoulder,  "it  is  the  young  man 
of  the  diamond.  You  want  to  be  reconciled  to  me,  then, 
fair  page?" 

Then,  looking  at  his  hand,  on  the  little  finger  of  which 
only  he  had,  on  account  of  his  cruel  sufferings,  been  able 
to  wear  a  gold  ring — 

' '  You  lost  something  by  waiting,  fair  page, ' '  he  contin- 
ued; "instead  of  the  diamond,  you  will  have  only  this  sim- 
ple ring.  It  is  true  it  has  my  seal  on  it,  which  perhaps  may 
be  a  compensation." 

And  drawing  it  from  his  little  finger,  he  put  it  on  the 
thumb  of  Leone,  the  thumb  of  that  delicate  hand  being 
the  only  finger  large  enough  to  hold  it. 

Then  he  left  the  hall  under  the  eyes  and  amid  the  accla- 
mations of  the  assembly — eyes  that  would  have  been  still 
more  curious,  acclamations  that  would  have  been  still  more 
enthusiastic,  if  the  spectators  had  been  able  to  guess  that 
this  monarch  who  was  descending  from  a  throne,  that  this 
Christian  who  was  marching  toward  solitude,  that  this  sin- 
ner who  was  bent  under  the  weight  of  pardon,  was  advanc- 
ing to  a  tomb  in  the  near  future,  leaning  not  only  on  the 
son,  but  on  the  daughter  of  that  unhappy  Francesco  Mara- 
viglia,  who  was  done  to  death  by  his  orders,  one  gloomy 
night  in  September,  in  a  dungeon  of  the  fortress  of  Milan. 

It  was  repentance  sustained  by  prayer ;  that  is  to  say,  if 
we  are  to  believe  the  words  of  Jesus  Christ,  the  most  agree- 
able spectacle  here  below  to  the  eyes  of  the  Lord. 

But,  on  reaching  the  gate  of  the  solitary  street  where  his 
mule  awaited  him,  the  Emperor  decided  that  neither  of  these 
young  people  should  take  a  step  further,  and  he  dismissed 
Odoardo  to  his  new  lord,  Don  Philip  and  Leone  to  his  old 
master,  Emmanuel  Philibert. 

Then  without  other  guard  or  suite  than  the  groom  who 
held  the  bridle  of  his  peaceful  steed,  he  took  his  way  to  his 
little  house  in  the  park;  so  that  none  who  saw  him  riding 
along  in  the  darkness  even  guessed  that  this  humble  pilgrim 
was  the  same  man  whose  abdication  was  at  that  very  hour 


the  sole  talk  of  Brussels,  and  soon  to  be  the  talk  of  the 
whole  world. 

Charles  V.,  on  arriving  at  the  gate  of  this  little  house, 
on  whose  site  the  palace  of  the  House  of  Representatives 
stands  to-day,  found  it  open. 

The  groom,  therefore,  had  only  to  push  one  of  the  wings 
aside  to  admit  the  rider,  the  mule,  and  himself. 

Then,  having  on  the  order  of  the  Emperor  brought  the 
mule  as  close  as  possible  to  the  door  of  the  house,  in  order 
that  the  passage  to  the  parlor  might  be  as  short  as  possible, 
he  received  his  master  in  his  arms,  and  placed  him  on  the 

The  door  was  open,  as  the  gate  had  been. 

The  Emperor  paid  no  attention  to  this  circumstance, 
plunged  as  he  was  in  reflections  which  it  is  more  easy  for 
our  readers  to  imagine  than  for  us  to  relate. 

Supported  on  one  side  by  his  staff,  which  he  found  in 
the  same  place  he  had  left  it,  behind  the  door,  on  the  other 
by  his  servant,  he  gained  the  parlor,  which  was  hung  with 
thick  warm  tapestry,  furnished  with  thick  carpets,  and  had 
a  blazing  fire  in  the  immense  chimney. 

The  parlor  was  lighted  only  by  the  glare  of  the  flame, 
which  was  coiling  greedily  around  the  brands  while  devour- 
ing them. 

He  stretched  himself  on  the  sofa;  and,  having  dismissed 
the  groom,  he  recalled  each  of  the  phases  of  that  life  crowded 
with  the  events  of  a  whole  half -century;  and  what  a  half- 
century! — that  in  which  lived  Henry  VIII. ,  Maximilian, 
Clement  VII.,  Frangois  I.,  Soliman  and  Luther.  He  forced 
his  memory  to  recross  the  road  he  had  travelled,  sailing  up 
the  stream  of  his  years,  like  a  traveller  who,  toward  the 
close  of  his  life,  would  sail  up  the  river  with  flowery  and 
perfumed  banks  which  he  descended  in  his  youth. 

The  journey  was  immense,  magnificent,  marvellous;  it 
was  made  through  the  adoration  of  courtiers,  the  acclama- 
tions of  the  world,  and  the  genuflections  of  the  multitudes 
who  ran  to  greet  this  gigantic  fortune  on  its  passage. 


Suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  this  dream,  which  was  less 
that  of  a  man  than  of  a  god,  one  of  the  brands  on  the 
hearth  burst,  and  one  fragment  fell  in  the  ashes,  while 
the  other  rolled  on  the  carpet,  from  which  a  thick  smoke 
immediately  began  to  rise. 

This  incident,  commonplace  though  it  was,  and  perhaps 
for  that  very  reason,  brought  the  Emperor  back  to  reality. 

"Ho!"  he  called,  "hoi  who  is  on  service  here?  Some 
one  come  quick!" 

There  was  no  answer. 

"Is  there  nobody  in  the  antechambers?"  cried  the  ex- 
Emperor,  growing  impatient  and  striking  the  floor  with  his 

This  second  call  met  with  no  more  reply  than  the  first. 

"Let  some  one  come,  I  say,  and  fix  this  fire,  and  let 
him  make  haste!"  said  Charles  V.,  now  more  impatient 
than  ever. 

Same  silence. 

"Oh!"  said  he,  dragging  himself  from  one  piece  of  fur- 
niture to  another,  in  order  to  reach  the  chimney,  "if  Provi- 
dence had  wished  to  inspire  me  with  repentance  for  what 
I  have  done,  the  lesson  has  come  very  soon." 

And  then  he  himself,  after  many  painful  efforts,  suc- 
ceeded in  regulating  the  fire  with  his  own  hands  which 
could  scarcely  hold  the  tongs  from  pain. 

All,  from  princes  to  valets,  were  busy  around  the  new 
king,  Don  Philip. 

The  Emperor  kicked  back  the  last  cinders  smoking  on 
the  carpet,  when  a  step  was  heard  in  the  antechamber,  and 
a  human  form  appeared  framed  by  the  door  and  outlined 
in  the  shadow. 

"At  last!"  murmured  the  Emperor. 

"Sire,"  said  the  new-comer,  who  saw  that  Charles  Y.  was 
mistaken  as  to  his  identity,  "I  ask  pardon  of  your  Majesty 
for  thus  presenting  myself  before  you;  but,  having  found 
all  the  doors  open,  and  seeing  nobody  in  the  antechambers 
to  announce  me,  I  have  ventured  to  announce  myself." 


"Announce  yourself,  then,  sir,"  replied  Charles,  who 
was  quickly  learning,  as  we  see,  his  apprenticeship  as  a 
private  individual.  "Come,  who  are  you?" 

"Sire,"  replied  the  unknown,  in  the  most  respectful 
tone,  and  bowing  to  the  very  ground,  "I  am  Gaspard  de 
Chatillon,  Sire  of  Coligny,  Admiral  of  France,  and  envoy 
extraordinary  from  his  Majesty  King  Henri  II. ' ' 

"Monsieur  envoy  extraordinary  of  his  Majesty  King 
Henri  II.,"  said  Charles,  smiling  with  a  certain  bitterness, 
"you  have  mistaken  the  door;  it  is  no  longer  with  me  that 
you  have  business,  it  is  with  King  Philip  II. ,  my  successor 
to  the  throne  of  Naples  since  nine  months,  and  to  the  throne 
of  Spain  and  the  Indias  since  twenty  minutes. ' ' 

"Sire,"  said  Coligny,  in  the  same  respectful  tone  and 
bowing  a  second  time,  "whatever  change  may  have  occurred 
in  the  fortunes  of  Don  Philip  since  nine  months  or  since 
twenty  minutes,  you  are  always  for  me  the  elect  of  Ger- 
many, the  very  great,  very  holy,  and  very  august  Emperor 
Charles  Y. ;  and  as  it  is  to  your  Majesty  that  the  letter  of 
my  sovereign  is  addressed,  permit  me  to  place  it  in  your 
Majesty's  hands." 

"In  that  case,  monsieur,  help  me  to  light  these  tapers," 
said  Charles  V.,  "for  the  accession  of  my  son  Don  Philip 
has  taken  away  from  me  even  my  last  lackey." 

And  the  Emperor,  aided  by  the  admiral,  lighted  the 
tapers  in  the  candelabra,  in  order  to  be  able  to  read  the 
letter  addressed  to  him  by  Henri  II.,  and  perhaps  also, 
moved  by  some  curiosity  to  see  the  man  who  for  three 
years  had  been  such  a  doughty  adversary  of  his. 

Gaspard  de  Chatillon,  Sire  of  Coligny,  was,  at  the  period 
we  have  reached,  a  man  of  thirty- eight  or  thirty-nine  years, 
with  piercing  eyes,  a  martial  presence,  and  a  tall  and  well- 
built  figure.  Being  of  a  loyal  and  intrepid  heart,  he  was 
held  in  great  esteem  by  Frangois  I.  and  Henri  II.,  as  he 
was  also  to  be  by  Frangois  II. 

Immense  as  was  the  massacre  of  the  24th  of  August, 
1572,  there  was  needed,  to  render  the  miserable  assassi- 

(8)— Vol.  20 


nation  of  such  a  man  possible,  the  hereditary  hatred  of 
Henri,  Due  de  Cruise,  joined  to  the  hypocrisy  of  Catherine 
de  Medicis  and  the  weakness  of  Charles  IX. 

This  hatred,  which  was  beginning  .to  separate  the  illus- 
trious admiral  from  his  old  friend  Frangois  de  Cruise  at  the 
very  time  we  are  introducing  him  to  the  reader,  had  its 
birth  on  the  battlefield  of  Renty.  In  their  youth,  these 
two  great  captains,  whose  genius  united  would  have  wrought 
such  marvels,  had  been  intimate  friends;  there  were  no  la- 
bors, no  pleasures,  no  exercises  which  they  did  not  share. 
In  their  studies  of  antiquity,  they  proposed  as  models  for 
themselves  not  only  the  men  who  have  left  fine  examples 
of  courage,  but  also  those  who  have  left  fine  examples  of 

This  mutual  affection  went  so  far  that  "they  wore," 
says  Brantome,  ''the  same  ornaments  and  the  same  livery." 
When  King  Henri  II.  sent  a  messenger  to  Charles  V.,  and 
this  messenger  was  not  the  Connetable  de  Montmorency,  it 
could  only  be  the  Amiral  de  Coligny  or  the  Due  de  Cruise. 

The  Emperor  regarded  the  admiral  with  a  certain  admi- 
ration. It  was  impossible,  we  are  assured  by  contemporary 
historians,  to  see  any  man  who  gave  one  a  better  idea  of  a 
great  captain. 

But,  at  this  very  same  moment,  it  occurred  to  Charles 
that  Coligny  had  been  sent  to  Brussels,  not  precisely  to  give 
him  the  letter  he  held  in  his  hand,  but  rather  to  report  to 
the  court  of  France  what  had  taken  place  in  the  palace  of 
Brussels  on  that  famous  day  of  the  25th  of  October,  1555. 
So  the  first  question  the  Emperor  put  to  Coligny,  when  a 
long  gaze  at  the  countenance  of  Coligny  had  allowed  him 
to  satisfy  his  curiosity,  was  the  following: 

"When,  did  you  arrive,  M.  1' Amiral?" 

"This  morning,  sire,"  replied  Coligny. 

"And  you  bring  me — " 

"This  letter  from  his  Majesty  King  Henri  II." 

And  he  presented  the  letter  to  the  Emperor. 

The  Emperor  took  it,  and  made  some  vain  attempts  to 


break  the  seal,  to  such  a  degree  were  his  hands  tortured 
and  twisted  by  the  gout. 

Then  the  admiral  offered  to  render  him  this  service. 

Charles  V.  handed  him  the  letter,  laughing. 

"Am  I  not,  in  truth,  M.  1'Amiral,"  he  said,  "a  nice 
cavalier  for  running  and  breaking  a  lance — I  who  can  no 
longer  even  break  a  seal?" 

The  admiral  returned  the  letter  opened  to  Charles  Y. 

"No,  no,"  said  the  Emperor,  "read  it  yourself;  my  sight 
is  as  bad  as  my  hand.  I  think,  then,  you  will  acknowledge 
that  I  have  done  well  to  resign  everything,  force  and  power, 
into  the  hands  of  one  younger  and  more  adroit. ' ' 

The  Emperor  emphasized  the  last  word. 

The  admiral  did  not  answer,  but  began  reading  the  letter. 

During  the  reading,  Charles  Y. ,  who  pretended  to  see  no 
longer,  was  devouring  Coligny  with  his  eagle  glance. 

The  message  was  quite  simple — a  letter  announcing  to  the 
Emperor  the  final  completion  of  the  truce;  the  preliminaries 
had  been  arranged  five  or  six  months  before. 

The  letter  read,  Coligny  took  from  his  jerkin  the  parch- 
ments signed  by  the  plenipotentiaries,  and  sealed  with  the 
royal  seal  of  France. 

It  was  the  exchange  made  for  the  corresponding  papers 
sent  previously  by  Charles  Y.  to  Henri  II. ,  signed  by  the 
Spanish,  German  and  English  plenipotentiaries,  and  sealed 
with  the  seal  of  the  Empire. 

The  Emperor  cast  his  eyes  over  these  political  contracts; 
and  as  if  he  divined  that  a  year  would  hardly  pass  before 
they  were  broken,  he  threw  them  on  a  large  table  covered 
with  a  black  cloth,  and  took  the  admiral's  arm  to  help  him 
to  his  seat. 

"M.  1'Amiral,"  said  he,  "is  it  not  a  miracle  of  Provi- 
dence that  I,  weak  and  retired  from  the  world,  should 
to-day  be  supported  by  an  arm  that  was  once  very  nearly 
overturning  me  at  the  height  of  my  power. ' ' 

"Oh,  sire!"  replied  the  admiral,  "only  one  man  could 
have  overturned  Charles  Y.,  and  that  was  Charles  Y.  him- 


self;  and  if  it  has  been  the  lot  of  us  poor  pygmies  to 
struggle  against  a  giant,  it  was  because  God  wished  in  a 
surpassing  manner  to  prove  to  the  world  our  weakness 
and  your  power." 

Charles  V.  smiled.  It  was  evident  the  compliment  did 
not  displease  him  coming  from  a  man  like  the  admiral. 

However,  sitting  down  and  making  a  sign  to  Coligny  to 
be  seated  also —  • 

"Enough,"  he  said,  "enough,  admiral.  I  am  no  longer 
emperor,  I  am  no  longer  king,  I  am  no  longer  prince;  I 
must  have  nothing  to  do  now  with  flattery.  Let  us  change 
the  conversation.  How  is  my  brother  Henri  ?" 

"Wonderfully  well,  sire,"  replied  Coligny,  obeying  the 
invitation  to  be  seated  when  repeated  for  the  third  time. 

"Ah,  how  glad  I  am  of  that!"  said  Charles;  "so  glad 
that  my  heart  dances  with  joy,  and  not  without  cause,  for 
I  hold  it  great  honor  to  have  sprung,  on  the  maternal  side, 
from  that  lily  that  bears  and  supports  the  most  celebrated 
crown  in  the  world.  But, ' '  he  continued,  affecting  to  lead 
back  the  conversation  to  the  commonplaces  of  life,  ' '  I  have 
been  sometimes  told  nevertheless  that  this  well-beloved 
brother  of  mine  was  getting  gray;  and  yet  it  seems  to  me 
not  three  days  ago  since  he  was  in  Spain,  a  youngster  with- 
out a  hair  on  his  face.  Ah,  twenty  years,  however,  have 
slipped  by  since  then!" 

And  Charles  Y.  heaved  a  sigh,  as  the  mere  fact  of  these 
words  escaping  his  lips  opened  up  the  vast  horizon  of  the 

"It  is  true,  sire,"  returned  Coligny,  in  reply  to  the 
question  of  the  Emperor,  "that  his  Majesty  King  Henri 
is  beginning  to  count  gray  hairs,  but  by  twos  and  threes 
at  the  most.  Now,  are  not  many  people,  younger  than 
he  is,  grayheaded?" 

"Oh,  what  you  say  is  quite  true!"  replied  the  Emperor. 
"And  now,  as  I  have  questioned  you  on  the  gray  hairs  of 
my  brother  Henri,  I  must  tell  you  the  history  of  my  own. 
I  was  almost  the  same  age,  thirty-six  or  thirty-seven 


scarcely;  it  was  on  my  return  from  Goulette  and  arrival 
in  Naples.  You  know  the  beauty  of  that  admirable  city 
of  Naples,  M.  1'Amiral,  and  the  beauty  and  grace  of  the 
dames  who  dwell  there. ' ' 

Coligny  bowed  smiling. 

' '  I  am  a  man, ' '  continued  Charles ;  li  I  wished  to  merit 
their  favor  like  others.  So,  on  the  day  of  my  arrival,  I 
summoned  my  barber  to  curl  and  perfume  me.  This  man 
presented  me  a  glass,  that  I  might  follow  the  operations  as 
he  went  along.  It  was  long  since  I  had  looked  at  myself; 
I  had  been  too  busy  making  war  on  the  Turks,  the  allies  of 
my  good  brother  FranQois  I.  Suddenly  I  cried  out,  'I  say, 
barber,  what  is  that,  my  friend?'  'Sire,'  he  answered,  'it 
is  two  or  three  white  hairs. '  Now,  I  must  tell  you  the  flat- 
terer lied:  it  was  not  two  or  three,  but,  on  the  contrary,  a 
dozen.  'Quick!  quick!  master  barber,'  I  jerked  out,  'pull 
them  out;  don't  leave  a  single  one.'  He  did  so;  but  do 
you  know  what  happened?  Some  time  after,  on  looking 
in  the  glass  again,  I  found  that  for  every  one  he  had 
plucked  out,  ten  had  returned.  So  that,  if  I  had  plucked 
these  out,  too,  in  less  than  a  year  I  should  have  been  as 
white  as  a  swan.  Tell  my  brother  Henri,  M.  1'Amiral,  to 
guard  his  three  white  hairs  preciously,  and  not  allow  them 
to  be  plucked  out,  even  by  the  fair  hands  of  Madame  de 
Yalentinois. " 

"I  will  not  fail,   sire,"  replied  Coligny,  laughing. 

"And  talking  of  Madame  de  Valentinois, "  continued 
Charles,  showing  by  the  transition  that  he  was  not  a  stran- 
ger to  the  scandals  of  the  court  of  Henri  II.,  "what  news 
have  you,  M.  1'Amiral,  of  your  dear  uncle,  the  great 

"Excellent,"  replied  the  admiral,  "although  his  head 
is  quite  white." 

"Yes,"  said  Charles,  "his  head  is  white;  but  he  is  like 
the  leeks,  with  a  white  head  and  the  rest  of  the  body  green. 
And  except  this  was  the  case,  he  would  not  be  such  a  favor- 
ite as  he  is  with  the  great  ladies  of  the  court.  But,  ah,  by 


the  way— for  I  do  not  like  letting  you  go  without  having 
news  of  everybody — how  is  the  daughter  of  our  old  friend 
Fran9ois  I.?" 

And  Charles  emphasized  with  a  smile  these  three  words 
our  old  friend. 

"Does  your  Majesty  mean  Madame  Marguerite  of 

"She  is  still  called  the  fourth  Grace,  the  tenth  Muse, 
is  she  not?" 

' '  Always,  sire ;  and  she  deserves  the  title  more  and  more 
every  day,  by  the  protection  she  grants  to  our  great  geniuses, 
such  as  MM.  de  1'Hopital,  Eonsard  and  Dorat. " 

"Eh!"  said  Charles  V.,  "it  looks  as  if  our  brother  Henri 
II.  was  jealous  of  his  royal  neighbors,  and  was  determined 
to  keep  this  beautiful  pearl  for  himself  alone :  I  hear  noth- 
ing said  of  the  marriage  of  Madame  Marguerite,  and  she 
must  be"  (Charles  appeared  to  be  making  a  calculation) 
"very  nearly  thirty- two. " 

"Yes,  sire,  but  she  hardly  looks  twenty;  she  is  fresher 
and  lovelier  every  day!" 

"It  is  the  privilege  of  roses  to  bud  and  bloom  anew 
every  spring,"  returned  Charles.  "But,  speaking  of  lords 
and  roses,  tell  me,  my  dear  Coligny,  tell  me  how  our  young 
Queen  of  Scotland  is  getting  along  at  the  court  of  France  ? 
Could  I  not  help  you  in  arranging  matters  with  my  daugh- 
ter-in-law of  England?" 

"Oh,  sire,  there  is  no  hurry,"  replied  Coligny;  "and 
your  Majesty,  who  knows  so  well  the  age  of  our  princesses, 
must  be  aware  that  the  Queen  of  Scotland  is  hardly  thirteen 
years  old.  Now  she  is — I  do  not  think  I  am  revealing  a 
secret  in  confiding  this  to  your  Majesty — she  is  to  wed  the 
Dauphin  Fra^ois,  and  the  marriage  cannot  take  place  for 
a  year  or  two. ' ' 

"Stay  a  moment;  stay  a  moment,  my  dear  admiral.  I 
am  trying  to  recall  something,"  said  Charles  Y.  "I  think 
there  is  somewhere  in  my  memory  a  reminiscence  which 
may  serve  as  a  warning  to  my  brother  Henri  II.,  although 


it  is  based  merely  on  cabalistic  science.  Ah!  I  have  it. 
But  first,  can  you  tell  me  what  has  become  of  a  young  lord 
named  Gabriel  de  Lorges,  Comte  de  Montgommery  ?" 

' '  Certainly :  he  is  at  the  court  of  the  king,  with  whom  he 
is  a  great  favorite,  and  is  a  captain  in  the  Scotch  Gruard. ' ' 

u A  great  favorite !  indeed!"  said  Charles,  pensively. 

"Have  you  anything  to  say  against  this  young  lord?" 
asked  Coligny,  respectfully. 

"No.     But  I  have  a  story  to  tell  you;  listen." 

"I  am  listening,  sire." 

"When  I  was  crossing  France,  with  the  permission  of 
my  brother  FranQois  L,  in  order  to  chastise  the  revolt  of  my 
well-beloved  fellow-countrymen  and  subjects  of  Ghent,  the 
King  of  France  paid  me — as  you  may  remember,  although 
your  beard  had  hardly  sprouted  at  the  time — the  King  of 
France  paid  me  all  kinds  of  honor.  He  sent  the  dauphin 
with  a  multitude  of  young  lords  and  pages  to  meet  me  at 
Fontainebleau.  It  is  as  well  to  tell  you,  my  dear  admiral, 
that  I  had  no  fancy  for  a  journey  through  France,  and, 
but  for  stern  necessity,  would  have  preferred  another  route. 
Everything  had  been  done  to  make  me  distrust  the  loyalty 
of  King  Frangois  I. ,  and  I  do  not  mind  confessing  that  I 
myself  sometimes  was  afraid  (very  groundlessly,  as  the 
event  proved)  that  my  brother  of  France  might  take  advan- 
tage  of  the  occasion  and  retaliate  for  the  treaty  of  Madrid. 
I  had  brought  with  me,  then  (just  as  if  human  science  could 
outweigh  the  purposes  of  Grod),  a  very  able  man,  a  renowned 
astrologer,  who,  by  the  inspection  of  the  faces  of  people, 
judged  at  once  whether  a  man  venturing  among  such  people 
was  in  danger  of  his  life  or  liberty. ' ' 

The  admiral  smiled. 

' '  Wait,  and  you  shall  see.  We  were  then  on  the  road 
from  Orleans  to  Fontainebleau,  when  suddenly  we  saw 
a  great  cortege  approach  us.  It  was,  as  I  told  you,  the 
Dauphin  of  France  with  a  crowd  of  lords  and  pages. 
At  first,  in  the  distance,  seeing  only  the  dust  which  en- 
veloped the  horses,  we  believed  it  was  a  troop  of  men- at- 


arms,  and  we  halted.  But  soon,  through  the  gray  cloud 
formed  by  this  dust,  we  saw  satin  and  velvet  shining,  and 
gold  sparkling.  Evidently  this  troop,  so  far  from  being 
hostile,  was  an  escort  of  honor.  We  proceeded,  therefore, 
on  our  way,  full  of  confidence  in  the  word  of  King  Frangois 
I.  The  cavalcades  soon  met,  and  the  dauphin,  advancing, 
complimented  me  in  the  name  of  his  father.  The  compli- 
ment was  so  gracious  and  so  calculated  to  set  at  rest — oh ! 
not  my  suspicions.  God,  to  whom  I  am  about  to  conse- 
crate my  life,  is  my  witness  that  never  for  a  moment  did  I 
suspect  my  good  brother! — the  compliment,  I  repeat,  was 
so  gracious  that  I  wished  to  embrace  the  young  prince  on 
the  spot.  Now,  while  I  was  holding  him  in  my  arms,  for, 
I  believe,  a  good  minute,  the  two  troops  mingled  together; 
and  the  young  lords  and  pages  in  the  suite  of  the  dauphin, 
curious  to "  observe  me,  doubtless  because  of  some  little 
noise  that  I  have  made  in  the  world,  clustered  around  me, 
approaching  as  near  as  they  could.  Then  I  noticed  that 
my  astrologer,  an  Italian  from  Milan,  named  Angelo  Poli- 
castro,  had  made  his  way  through  them  on  horseback,  and 
taken  a  position  on  my  left.  This  seemed  to  me  audacious 
— the  notion  of  such  a  man  mingling  with  such  a  fine  and 
rich  nobility." 

'•  'Oh,  Signor  Angelo, '  I  said,  'what  are  you  doing  there  ?' 

"  'Sire,'  he  replied,  'I  am  in  my  place.' 

' '  '  No  matter !  keep  a  little  further  back,  Signor  Angelo. ' 

"  'I  cannot,  I  must  not,  my  august  lord,'  he  answered. 

"Thereupon  I  suspected  something  had  occurred  likely 
to  disturb  the  harmony  of  my  journey;  so,  fearing  he  might 
obey  my  first  injunction — 

1  'Eemain,  then,  Signor  Angelo,'  I  said;  'remain,  since 
you  are  here  with  a  good  intention.  Only  when  we  enter 
the  castle,  you  will  tell  me  why  you  have  taken  up  such 
a  position,  will  you  not?' 

kt  'Oh,  sire,  I  shall  not  fail,  the  thing  being  my  duty; 
but  turn  your  head  to  the  left,  and  observe  that  blond 
young  man  who  is  near  me,  and  who  wears  the  hair  long. ' 


"I  looked  from  the  corner  of  my  eye;  the  young  man 
was  the  more  remarkable,  and  it  was  the  easier  singling 
him  out  that  he  looked  like  a  foreigner,  an  Englishman, 
and  was  the  only  one  who  wore  his  hair  long. 

"  'Well,  I  see  him,'  I  answered. 

"  'That  is  enough,'  said  the  astrologer — 'for  the  mo- 
ment, at  least ;  later  on  I  shall  speak  to  your  Majesty. ' 

"In  truth,  I  had  hardly  entered  the  castle  and  withdrawn 
to  my  apartments  to  change  my  toilet,  when  Signor  Angelo 
followed  me. 

"  'Well,'  I  asked,  'what  have  you  to  tell  me  about  this 
young  man?' 

"  'Have  you  noticed,  sire,  the  furrow  this  young  man 
has  between  the  eyebrows,  although  so  young  ?' 

"'No,  faith,'  I  replied;  'not  having  examined  him  so 
nearly  as  you. ' 

' '  '  Well,  that  furrow  is  what  we  men  of  the  cabala  call 
the  line  of  death.  Sire,  that  young  man  will  kill  a  king!' 

"  'A  king  or  an  emperor?'  I  asked. 

"  'I  cannot  say,  sire;  but  he  will  strike  a  head  wearing 
a  crown. ' 

' '  '  Ah,  ah !  you  have  no  means  of  knowing  if  this  head 
will  be  mine  ? ' 

"  'Yes,  sire;  but  for  this  I  shall  need  a  lock  of  his 
hair. ' 

"  'Good!  a  lock  of  his  hair — how  will  you  get  it?' 

"  'I  do  not  know,  but  I  must  have  it.' 

"I  began  to  reflect.  At  this  moment  the  gardener's 
daughter  entered,  carrying  a  basket  of  flowers  which  she 
came  to  arrange  in  the  vases  on  the  mantelpiece  and  in 
those  on  the  consoles.  When  she  had  finished,  I  took  her 
by  the  hand,  and  drew  her  toward  me.  Then,  taking  two 
new  gold  maximilians  from  my  pocket,  I  gave  them  to  her. 
She  thanked  me. 

"  'And  new,'  I  said,  kissing  her  on  the  forehead,  'would 
you  like  to  earn  ten  times  as  many  ?' 

She  cast  down  her  eyes  and  blushed. 

180       THE  PAGE  OF  THE  DUKE  OF  SAVOY 

"  'Oh!'  said  I  to  her,  "  'it  is  not  that — there  is  no  ques- 
tion of  that — ' 

"  'Of  what,  then,  lord  Emperor?'  she  asked. 

"  'Come  here,'  I  said,  leading  her  to  the  window,  and 
pointing  to  the  blond  young  man  who  was  amusing  himself 
running  the  quintaine  in  the  court;  'you  see  that  young 
lord  ?' 

"  'Yes,  I  see  him.' 

tk  l  What  do  you  think  of  him  ?' 

' '  '  He  is  very  handsome  and  splendidly  dressed. ' 

"  'Well,  bring  me  a  lock  of  his  hair  to-morrow  morning, 
and,  instead  of  two  gold  Maximilians,  you  shall  have 

'  'But  how  can  I  get  the  hair  of  this  young  man  ?'  she 
asked,  regarding  me  naively. 

"  'Oh!  upon  my  word,  my  fair  girl,  I  have  nothing  to 
do  with  that;  it  is  for  you  to  find  the  way.  All  that  I  can 
do  is  to  give  you  a  Bible. ' 

'"A  Bible?' 

"Yes;  that  you  may  see  what  means  Delilah  adopted  to 
cut  the  hair  of  Samson. ' 

' '  The  young  girl  blushed  again,  but  it  seemed  as  if  the 
information  was  sufficient;  for  she  went  away  at  once,  pen- 
sive and  smiling,  and  the  next  day  she  returned,  with  a  lock 
of  hair  gleaming  like  gold.  Ah !  the  most  simple  woman  is 
more  cunning  than  the  craftiest  of  us  all,  M.  1'Amiral!" 

"Does  your  Majesty  not  intend  finishing  the  story  ?" 

"Oh,  certainly.  I  sent  the  lock  of  hair  to  Signer  An- 
gelo,  who  made  his  cabalistic  experiments  on  it,  and  said 
it  was  not  I,  but  a  prince  bearing  the  fleur-de-lis  in  his  coat 
of  arms,  whom  the  horoscope  threatened.  Well,  my  dear 
Coligny,  the  blond  young  man  with  the  line  of  death  be- 
tween the  eyebrows,  the  Seigneur  de  Lorges,  Comte  de 
Montgommery,  captain  in  the  Scotch  Guard  of  my  brother 

"What !     Your  Majesty  suspects—  ?' ' 

"Oh,"  said  Charles,  rising  to  indicate  that  the  audience 


was  over,  "I  suspect  nothing.  God  forbid!  I  only  repeat 
to  you,  word  for  word,  as  a  thing  that  might  be  useful  to 
my  brother  Henri,  the  horoscope  of  Signor  Angelo  Poli- 
castro;  and  I  advise  his  Majesty  to  pay  good  attention  to 
this  line  that  happens  to  be  between  the  two  eyebrows 
of  his  captain  of  the  Scotch  Guard,  which  is  called  the 
line  of  death,  reminding  him  that  it  specially  threatens 
a  prince  bearing  the  fleur-de-lis  in  his  coat  of  arms." 

"Sire,"  said  Coligny,  "his  Majesty  shall  be  informed  of 
the  friendly  warning  you  have  given  him. ' ' 

"And  that  you  may  not  forget  it,  my  dear  Coligny,  ac- 
cept this,"  said  Charles,  throwing  round  the  neck  of  the 
ambassador  the  magnificent  gold  chain  he  was  himself  wear- 
ing, from  which  hung  that  diamond  star  called  the  star  of 
the  west,  in  honor  of  the  western  possessions  of  the  kings 
of  Spain. 

Coligny  wished  to  receive  the  gift  on  his  knees;  but 
Charles  would  not  allow  this  mark  of  respect,  and,  holding 
him  in  his  arms,  he  kissed  him  on  both  cheeks. 

At  the  door,  Coligny  encountered  Emmanuel  Philibert, 
who,  as  soon  as  the  ceremony  was  over,  or  rather,  a  little 
before,  left  everything  to  offer  his  homage  at  the  feet  of  that 
Emperor  who  was  now  greater  in  his  eyes  than  before  he 
abdicated  his  greatness. 

The  two  captains  saluted  each  other  courteously;  both 
had  met  on  the  field  of  battle,  and  their  mutual  esteem  was 
on  a  level  with  their  courage ;  that  is  to  say,  lofty  and  grand. 

"Your  Majesty,"  said  Coligny,  "has  nothing  else  to  say 
to  me  for  the  king  my  master  ?" 

"No,  nothing."  Then,  looking  at  Emmanuel  Philibert, 
he  smiled. 

"Unless,  my  dear  admiral,  that,  if  our  health  permits 
us,  we  devote  some  attention  to  the  task  of  finding  a  hus- 
band for  Madame  Marguerite  of  France. ' ' 

Then,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  Emmanuel — 

"Come,  my  dear  Emmanuel,"  he  said,  returning  to  the 
parlor,  "it  seems  an  age  since  I  saw  you!" 




FOR  those  of  our  readers  who  wish  to  see  the  issue  of 
every  occurrence  and  the  philosophy  of  every  event, 
we  have  decided  to  write  the  present  chapter,  which 
perhaps  may  interfere  for  a  moment  with  the  march  of  our 
action,  but  which  will  allow  the  eye,  resting  for  a  while  on 
the  Emperor  Charles,  to  follow  the  fortunes  of  that  illus- 
trious sovereign,  concealed,  though  they  were,  by  the  ob- 
scurity of  his  new  life  from  the  day  of  his  abdication  to  that 
of  his  death;  that  is  to  say,  from  the  25th  of  October,  1555, 
to  the  21st  of  September,  1558. 

After  the  conqueror  of  Frangois  I.  has  been  laid  in  the 
sepulchre,  whither  his  rival  has  preceded  him  by  nine  years, 
we  shall  return  to  the  living,  to  combats  and  festivals,  to 
scenes  in  which  love  and  hatred  play  their  several  parts; 
in  fine,  to  all  those  immense  and  confused  murmurs  which 
cradle  the  dead,  waiting  in  the  depths  of  their  tombs  for  the 
eternal  resurrection. 

The  different  political  affairs  which  Charles  V.  had  to 
regulate  in  the  Low  Countries,  and  the  abdication  of  the 
Empire  in  favor  of  his  brother  Ferdinand — an  abdication 
which  followed  that  of  his  hereditary  states  in  favor  of  his 
son  Don  Philip — still  kept  him  nearly  a  year  in  Brussels; 
so  that  it  was  only  in  the  first  days  of  September,  1556,  that 
he  could  quit  that  city  and  set  out  for  Grhent,  escorted  by 
all  the  grandees,  nobles,  ambassadors,  magistrates,  captains, 
and  officers  in  Belgium. 

King  Philip  had  expressly  desired  to  conduct  his  father 
to  the  place  of  embarkation;  that  is  to  say,  to  Flessingen, 


which,  the  Emperor  reached  in  his  litter,  accompanied  by 
the  two  queens,  his  sisters,  with  their  ladies,  King  Philip 
with  his  court,  and  Emmanuel  Philibert  with  his  two  in- 
separable companions,  Leone  and  Scianca-Ferro. 

The  adieus  were  long  and  sad :  not  only  was  a  man  who 
had  held  the  world  clasped  in  his  two  arms  separating  from 
his  sisters,  from  his  son,  from  a  grateful  and  devoted 
nephew,  but  he  was,  moreover,  separating  from  the  world, 
from  life  almost,  his  intention  being  to  retire  into  a  monas- 
tery immediately  on  his  arrival  in  Spain. 

Consequently,  the  ex- emperor  wished  to  have  these 
adieus  over  on  the  eve  of  his  departure,  saying  that  if 
they  were  to  take  place  on  the  morrow,  at  the  moment  he 
was  going  to  embark,  he  would  never  have  the  courage 
to  set  his  foot  on  board  the  vessel. 

The  first  person  Charles  Y.  took  leave  of — because,  per- 
haps, in  his  heart  he  loved  him  least — was  Don  Philip. 
After  receiving  his  father's  kiss,  the  King  of  Spain  knelt 
and  asked  his  blessing. 

Charles  Y.  gave  it  to  him  with  that  majesty  which  never 
deserted  him  under  any  circumstances,  and  recommended 
him  to  keep  peace  with  the  Allied  Powers,  particularly  with 
France,  if  it  were  possible. 

Don  Philip  promised  his  father  to  comply  with  his 
wishes,  expressing  a  doubt,  however,  as  to  the  possibility 
of  peace  with  France,  but  asseverating  that  he  would  never- 
theless keep,  on  his  side,  the  truce  faithfully,  as  long  as  his 
cousin  Henri  II.  did  not  break  it. 

After  this  Charles  embraced  Emmanuel  Philibert,  hold- 
ing him  a  long  time  in  his  arms,  as  if  he  could  not  bring 
himself  to  separate  from  him. 

Finally,  calling  Don  Philip,  with  tears  in  his  eyes  and  in 
his  voice,  he  said: 

' '  My  dear  son,  I  have  given  you  many  things — I  have 
given  you  Naples,  Flanders,  the  two  Indias :  for  your  sake, 
indeed,  I  have  despoiled  myself  of  all  I  possessed.  But 
keep  this  well  in  your  mind:  neither  Naples  and  its 


palaces,  nor  the  Low  Countries  and  their  commerce,  nor 
the  two  Indias  and  their  mines  of  gold,  silver,  and  precious 
stones  are  worth  the  treasure  I  give  you  in  bequeathing  to 
you  your  cousin  Emmanuel  Philibert — a  man  equally  prompt 
to  plan  and  execute,  a  good  statesman,  and  a  great  captain. 
I  recommend  you  to  treat  him,  therefore,  not  as  a  subject, 
but  as  a  brother ;  and  even  then  he  will  be  scarcely  treated 
by  you  according  to  his  merits. ' ' 

Emmanuel  Philibert  tried  to  kiss  the  knees  of  his  uncle, 
but  the  latter  held  him  in  his  arms;  then,  gently  pushing 
him  from  his  arms  into  those  of  Don  Philip — 

"Go,"  he  said;  "go!  it  is  a  shame  for  men  to  groan  and 
weep  thus  on  account  of  a  short  separation  in  this  world ! 
Let  us  manage,  by  good  deeds  and  the  virtues  of  a  Christian 
life,  to  make  sure  of  our  union  in  a  happier  world;  that  is 
the  essential  point!" 

And,  making  a  sign  with  his  hand  to  the  two  young  men 
to  depart,  he  remained  with  his  back  turned  until  they  were 
outside  of  the  apartment,  and  then  went  to  take  leave  of  his 

Don  Philip  and  Emmanuel  Philibert  mounted  their 
horses  and  started  at  once  for  Brussels. 

As  to  the  ex- emperor,  he  embarked  the  next  day,  10th 
of  September,  1556,  on  a  vessel  "truly  royal  in  size  and 
adornment, ' '  says  Gregorio  Leti,  historian  of  Charles  V. ; 
but  it  was  hardly  outside  the  harbor  when  it  was  saluted 
by  an  English  ship.  This  ship  carried  the  Earl  of  Arundel, 
sent  to  her  father-in-law  by  Queen  Mary,  to  beg  him  not  to 
pass  so  near  the  coasts  of  Great  Britain  without  paying  her 
a  visit. 

But  at  this  invitation  Charles  merely  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  and,  in  a  tone  not  wholly  free  from  bitterness, 
he  said — 

"  Eh !  what  pleasure  could  so  great  a  queen  take  in  see- 
ing herself  the  daughter-in-law  of  a  private  gentlemen  ?" 

In  spite  of  this  reply,  the  Earl  of  Arundel  persisted, 
with  so  many  courteous  supplications  and  respectful  prayers 


that  Charles  Y.  could  no  longer  defend  himself  from  such 
importunity,  and  at  last  said*- 

' '  My  lord,  everything  will  depend  on  the  winds. ' ' 

The  two  queens  had  embarked  with  their  brother.  Sixty 
ships  escorted  the  imperial  vessel ;  and,  seeing  that,  although 
the  winds  were  far  from  being  unfavorable,  the  Emperor 
passed  Yarmouth,  London,  and  Portsmouth  without  stop- 
ping, the  Earl  of  Arundel  insisted  no  further.  He  placed 
himself  respectfully  in  the  suite  of  the  imperial  vessel,  and 
followed  it  into  Loredo,  a  port  of  Biscay,  where  Charles  was 
received  by  the  Grand  Constable  of  Castile. 

But  he  had  no  sooner  touched  that  land  of  Spain,  over 
which  he  had  so  gloriously  reigned,  than  he  knelt  down, 
before  listening  to  a  word  of  the  discourse  the  grand  con- 
stable had  prepared;  and,  kissing  the  soil  of  that  realm 
which  had  become  now  a  kind  of  second  birthplace,  he  said: 

"I  salute  thee  with  all  reverence,  oh  common  mother! 
and,  as  I  came  forth  from  the  womb  of  my  mother  to  re- 
ceive so  many  treasures,  I  wish  now  also  to  return  naked 
into  thy  bosom,  my  very  dear  mother!  And  if  it  was  then 
a  duty  of  nature,  it  is  to-day  an  effect  of  grace  upon  my 

He  had  not  finished  this  prayer,  when  the  wind  began 
to  swell,  and  such  a  violent  tempest  arose  that  all  the  fleet 
which  had  accompanied  him  perished  in  the  harbor,  not  ex- 
cepting even  the  imperial  vessel,  which  was  laden  with  treas- 
ure and  with  the  magnificent  gifts  brought  by  the  Emperor 
from  Belgium  and  Germany  as  gifts  to  the  churches  of  Spain 
— which  gave  occasion  to  a  saying  by  one  of  the  personages 
of  the  suite  of  Charles  Y.  that  the  vessel,  foreseeing  that 
never  again  would  such  glory  ennoble  it,  had  sunk  into  the 
sea  in  order  to  show  at  once  its  respect,  regret,  and  sorrow. 

It  was  just  as  well,  perhaps,  that  inanimate  things  should 
give  such  proofs  of  respect,  regret,  and  sorrow  to  Charles 
Y.,  for  men  were  very  cold  in  presence  of  his  changed  for- 
tunes. At  Burgos,  for  example,  the  Emperor  crossed  the 
city  without  any  deputation  meeting  him,  and  without 


the  citizens  even  giving  themselves  the  trouble  to  run  to 
their  doors  to  look  at  him  passing.  Which  seeing,  the  Em- 
peror shook  his  head,  murmuring — 

"In  truth,  the  inhabitants  of  Burgos  must  have  been 
listening  to  me  when  I  said  at  Loredo  that  I  was  returning 
naked  into  Spain!" 

The  same  day,  however,  a  noble  lord  named  Don  Bar- 
tolomeo  Miranda  having  come  to  visit  him,  and  having  said 
to  him — 

"It  is  to-day  exactly  a  year,  sire,  since  your  Imperial 
Majesty  abandoned  the  world  to  devote  yourself  entirely  to 
the  service  of  God — ' ' 

"Yes,"  said  Charles;  "and  it  is  to-day  exactly  a  year 
since  I  have  repented  of  it!" 

Charles  Y.  recalled  the  sad  and  solitary  evening  of  his 
abdication  when  the  coals  fell  upon  the  carpet,  and  he  had 
no  one  to  help  in  regulating  the  fire  but  Admiral  Coligny. 

From  Burgos  the  Emperor  travelled  to  Yalladolid,  which 
was  then  the  capital  of  Spain.  Half  an  hour  from  the  city, 
he  met  a  procession.  It  consisted  of  nobles  and  lords,  led 
by  his  grandson  Don  Carlos,  then  eleven  years  old. 

The  child  managed  his  steed  admirably,  and  rode  on  the 
left  of  the  Emperor's  litter.  It  was  the  first  time  he  saw  his 
grandfather,  and  the  latter  regarded  him  with  an  earnestness 
that  would  have  disconcerted  any  one  but  the  young  prince. 
Don  Carlos  did  not  even  lower  his  eyes,  contenting  himself 
with  taking  off  his  cap  respectfully  every  time  the  Em- 
peror's eyes  were  fixed  upon  him.  He  replaced  it  on  his 
head  when  Charles  turned  away  his  eyes. 

As  a  consequence,  the  Emperor  no  sooner  entered  his 
apartments  than  he  sent  for  him,  in  order  to  have  a  nearer 
view  of  him,  and  to  converse  with  him. 

The  boy  presented  himself,  respectful  in  manner,  but 
without  any  embarrassment. 

"And  so  it  was  you,  my  grandson,  who  came  to  meet 
me,"  said  Charles. 

"It  was  my  duty,"  replied  the  boy,  "as  I  am  your  sub- 


ject  in  a  twofold  manner;  for  you  are  my  grandfather  and 
my  emperor. ' ' 

"Ah,  indeed!"  exclaimed  Charles,  astonished  at  finding 
so  much  coolness  in  a  child  of  such  tender  years. 

"Besides,  even  if  it  was  not  my  duty  to  meet  your  Im- 
perial Majesty,  I  should  have  done  so  through  curiosity." 

"And  why  so?" 

' l  Because  I  have  often  heard  that  you  were  an  illustrious 
emperor,  and  that  you  have  done  great  things. ' ' 

"Ah,  truly!"  said  Charles  Y.,  who  was  amused  by  the 
strange  disposition  of  the  child;  "and  would  you  like  me 
to  relate  those  great  things  to  you  ?" 

"It  would  be  a  keen  pleasure  and  an  immense  honor  for 
me, ' '  replied  the  young  prince. 

"Well,  sit  down  there." 

"With  the  permission  of  your  Majesty,  I  shall  listen 
standing, ' '  said  the  child. 

Then  Charles  V.  related  all  his  wars  with  Frangois  I., 
the  Turks  and  the  Protestants. 

Don  Carlos  listened  with  the  greatest  attention,  and  when 
his  grandfather  had  finished,  showing  that  the  recital  was  no 
novelty  for  him,  he  exclaimed — 

' '  Oh,  yes,  that  is  how  it  all  happened. ' ' 

"But,"  returned  the  Emperor,  "you  do  not,  my  fair 
grandson,  tell  me  what  you  think  of  my  adventures,  or 
whether  you  believe  I  have  conducted  myself  as  a  brave 
man. ' ' 

"Oh!"  said  the  young  prince,  "I  am  well  enough  satis- 
fied with  what  you  have  done ;  there  is  one  thing,  though, 
I  cannot  pardon  you." 

"Upon  my  word!"  said  the  astonished  Emperor;  "and, 
pray,  what  is  it  ? " 

"Your  flight  from  Innspruck  one  night,  half  naked, 
before  Duke  Maurice." 

' '  But  I  could  not  help  it,  I  swear  to  you, ' '  answered  the 
Emperor,  laughing.  "He  surprised  me,  and  I  had  nothing 
to  protect  me  but  the  house  I  was  living  in. ' ' 


' '  Still,  I  would  not  have  fled, ' '  said  Don  Carlos. 

"What!  you  would  not  have  fled?" 


"But  it  was  necessary  to  fly,  since  I  had  no  means  of 
resistance. ' ' 

' '  I  would  not  have  fled, ' '  repeated  the  young  prince. 

4 '  Should  I  have  allowed  myself  to  be  taken,  then  ?  That 
would  have  been  a  great  imprudence,  for  which  I  should 
have  been  blamed  still  more. ' ' 

"No  matter!  I  would  not  have  fled,"  repeated  the  child 
for  the  third  time. 

"Tell  me,  then,  what- you  would  have  done  on  such  an 
occasion;  and,  to  help  you  to  an  answer,  what  would  you 
do  at  the  present  moment  if  I  set  thirty  pages,  say,  at  your 

"I  would  not  fly,"  the  child  contented  himself  with 

The  Emperor  frowned,  and,  summoning  the  governor  of 
the  young  prince — 

"Sir,"  he  said,  "take  my  grandson  with  you:  I  congrat- 
ulate you  on  the  education  you  are  giving  him ;  if  he  con- 
tinues, he  will  be  the  greatest  warrior  of  our  family ! ' ' 

The  same  evening,  he  said  to  Queen  Eleonore,  his  sister, 
whom  he  was  leaving  at  Yalladolid: 

"I  fear,  sister,  Don  Philip  is  not  fortunate  in  his  son 
Don  Carlos;  his  manners  and  disposition  at  such  an  early 
age  do  not  please  me.  I  cannot  imagine  what  he  is  likely 
to  be  when  he  is  twenty-five.  Study  the  words  and  actions 
of  this  child,  then,  and  when  you  write  to  me,  tell  me  sin- 
cerely what  you  think  on  the  subject ' ' 

Two  days  afterward  Charles  entered  Palencia,  and  on  the 
ensuing  day  Queen  Eleonore  wrote: 

"My  brother,  if  the  manners  of  Don  Carlos  have  dis- 
pleased you  after  seeing  him  only  on  one  day,  they  have 
much  more  displeased  me  after  seeing  him  on  three. ' ' 

This  little  man,  who  would  not  have  fled  from  Inns- 
pruck,  was  the  same  Don  Carlos  who  was  put  to  death  by 


his  father,  Philip  II.,  twelve  years  later,  under  the  pretext 
that  he  conspired  with  the  rebels  in  the  Low  Countries. 

At  Yalladolid  the  Emperor  had  dismissed  his  entire 
court,  with  the  exception  of  twelve  domestics  and  twelve 
horses,  reserving  for  his  own  use  only  a  few  rare  and  pre- 
cious articles  of  furniture,  and  distributing  all  the  rest 
among  the  gentlemen  who  had  accompanied  him;  then 
he  had  bade  farewell  to  the  two  queens,  and  set  out  for 

Palencia  was  eighteen  miles  from  the  monastery  of  Saint- 
Just,  belonging  to  the  order  of  Hieronimites,  which  the  Em- 
peror had  selected  for  his  retreat,  and  where  he  had  sent, 
during  the  preceding  year,  an  architect  to  build  six  rooms 
for  him  on  the  ground  floor,  four  exactly  like  the  cells  of 
the  monks,  and  two  a  little  bigger.  The  artist  was  also  to 
lay  out  a  garden,  on  a  plan  designed  by  Charles  himself. 

This  garden  was  the  charming  feature  of  the  imperial 
retreat;  it  was  watered  on  two  sides  by  a  little  rivulet, 
limpid  and  murmuring,  and  planted  with  orange,  lemon 
and  cedar  trees,  whose  branches  shaded  and  perfumed  the 
windows  of  the  illustrious  recluse. 

In  1542  he  had  visited  this  same  monastery  of  Saint- Just, 
and,  on  leaving,  said — 

' 4  A  real  place  of  retreat  for  a  second  Diocletian. ' ' 

The  Emperor  took  possession  of  his  apartments  in  the 
monastery  of  Saint- Just  on  the  24th  of  February,  1557.  It 
was  the  anniversary  of  his  birthj  and  that  day  had  always 
been  a  fortunate  day  for  him. 

"I  wish,"  he  said,  on  crossing  the  threshold,  "to  be  born 
again  for  heaven  on  the  same  day  on  which  I  was  born  for 

Out  of  the  twelve  horses  he  had  kept,  he  sent  away 
eleven;  he  used  the  one  he  retained  for  riding  occasionally 
in  the  delicious  valley  of  Serandilla,  distant  only  a  mile,  and 
which  is  called  the  Paradise  of  Estremadura. 

Starting  from  that  moment,  he  kept  up  little  communica- 
tion with  the  world,  receiving  only  rare  visits  from  his  old 


courtiers,  and,  once  or  twice  a  year,  letters  from  King  Philip, 
the  Emperor  Ferdinand,  and  the  two  queens,  his  sisters;  his 
only  distraction  was  the  rides  we  have  mentioned,  the  din- 
ners he  gave  now  and  then  to  the  gentlemen  who  visited 
him  and  whom  he  retained  until  evening,  saying,  "My 
friends,  remain  with  me  and  live  the  religious  life,"  and 
the  pleasure  he  took  in  attending  to  the  little  birds  of 
every  species  he  kept  in  cages. 

This  life  lasted  a  year;  but,  at  the  end  of  the  year,  it 
seemed  still  too  worldly  for  the  august  solitary,  and  on  the 
anniversary  of  his  birth,  the  day,  also,  it  will  be  remem- 
bered, of  his  entrance  into  the  monastery,  he  said  to  the 
Archbishop  of  Toledo,  who  had  come  to  pay  him  a  visit 
of  ceremony: 

"My  lord,  I  have  lived  fifty- seven  years  for  the  world, 
and  a  year  for  my  intimate  friends  and  servants  in  this 
lonely  spot;  now  I  wish  to  give  to  the  Lord  the  few 
months  I  have  still  to  live. ' '  And,  in  consequence,  while 
thanking  the  prelate  for  his  visit,  he  begged  him  not  to  take 
the  trouble  of  coming  again,  except  he  called  him  for  his 
soul's  sake. 

In  fact,  from  the  25th  of  February,  1558,  the  Emperor 
lived  almost  as  austerely. as  the  monks,  eating  with  them, 
inflicting  the  discipline  on  himself,  going  regularly  to  the 
services,  and  not  allowing  himself  any  other  distraction  than 
that  of  having  Masses  said  for  the  innumerable  quantity  of 
soldiers,  sailors,  officers  and  captains  who  had  died  in  his 
service  in  the  different  battles  waged  by  himself  or  by 
his  orders  in  the  four  quarters  of  the  globe. 

He  had  special  Masses  said  in  the  name  of  the  generals, 
councillors,  ambassadors  and  ministers — he  had  a  perfectly 
exact  register  of  the  anniversary  of  their  deaths — at  private 
altars  erected  for  the  purpose ;  so  that  it  might  be  said  that, 
just  as  he  had  formerly  placed  his  glory  in  reigning  over  the 
living,  he  now  placed  it  in  reigning  over  the  dead. 

At  last,  growing  tired,  toward  the  beginning  of  the  July 
of  this  same  year,  1558,  of  assisting  at  the  funerals  of  others, 


Charles  Y.  resolved  to  assist  at  his  own.  However,  it  took 
some  time  to  accustom  him  to  this  rather  odd  idea;  he  was 
afraid  he  would  be  taxed  with  pride  and  singularity  in  giv- 
ing way  to  this  desire ;  but  at  last  it  became  irresistible,  and 
he  disclosed  his  intention  to  a  monk  of  the  same  monastery, 
named  Father  John  Regola. 

It  was  with  trembling  that  Charles  ventured  on  this  con- 
fidence, fearing  the  monk  might  throw  some  obstacle  in  the 
way  of  the  execution  of  his  plan ;  but  the  monk,  on  the  con- 
trary, to  the  great  joy  of  the  Emperor,  answered  that,  al- 
though it  would  be  an  extraordinary  and  unprecedented 
act,  he  saw  no  harm  in  it,  and  considered  it  even  pious 
and  exemplary. 

Nevertheless,  this  approval  by  a  simple  monk  did  not 
seem  to  the  Emperor  sufficient  in  such  a  grave  circum- 
stance; then  Father  Eegola  offered  to  take  the  opinion  of 
the  Archbishop  of  Toledo. 

Charles  thought  the  advice  good,  and  the  monk,  being 
appointed  ambassador  to  the  archbishop,  set  out  on  a  mule, 
and  with  an  escort,  to  get  the  desired  permission. 

Never  in  the  days  of  Charles  V.'s  power  had  the  re- 
turn of  a  messenger,  however  important  the  message,  been 
awaited  with  such  impatience  as  was  this  one. 

At  last,  at  the  end  of  a  fortnight,  the  monk  reappeared; 
the  reply  was  favorable;  the  archbishop  regarded  the  desire 
of  the  Emperor  as  very  holy  and  very  Christian. 

On  the  next  day,  which  was  a  genuine  festival,  prepara- 
tions were  made  to  render  the  funeral  ceremony  worthy  of 
the  great  Emperor  who  was  about  to  be  buried  alive. 

The  first  thing  undertaken  was  the  construction  of  a 
inagnificent  mausoleum  in  the  centre  of  the  church;  Father 
Vargas,  who  was  an  engineer  and  sculptor,  made  a  design 
that  was  satisfactory  to  the  Emperor,  except  in  some  details 
which  he  retouched. 

The  design  being  approved,  master  joiners  and  painters 
were  summoned  from  Palencia,  who  for  five  weeks  em- 
ployed twenty  men  each  day  in  building  this  mausoleum. 


At  the  end  of  the  five  weeks,  thanks  to  the  activity  inspired 
by  the  presence  of  the  Emperor,  the  mausoleum  was  fin- 
ished. It  was  forty  feet  long,  thirty  broad  and  fifty  high; 
around  it  were  galleries  mounted  by  several  staircases; 
there  might  be  seen  a  series  of  pictures  representing  the 
most  illustrious  emperors  of  the  House  of  Austria,  and 
the  principal  battles  of  Charles  Y.  himself.  In  fine,  on 
the  top  was  laid  the  bier,  without  a  lid,  having  on  its 
left  Fame,  and  on  its  right  Immortality. 

Everything  being  completed,  the  morning  of  the  24th 
of  August  was  fixed  for  this  fictitious  funeral. 

At  five  o'clock,  just  an  hour  and  a  half  after  sunrise, 
four  hundred  immense  tapers  painted  black  were  placed, 
lighted,  on  the  sarcophagus,  around  which  the  domestics 
of  the  Emperor  were  arranged,  dressed  in  mourning,  bare- 
headed, each  with  a  torch  in  his  hand.  At  seven,  Charles 
entered,  clad  in  a  long  mourning  robe,  having  on  his  right 
and  left  a  monk  garbed  like  himself.  He  sat  down  on  a 
seat  prepared  for  him  in  front  of  the  altar,  having  also 
a  torch  in  his  hand.  There,  without  a  movement,  his  torch 
resting  on  the  ground,  he  listened,  living,  to  all  the  chants 
sung  for  the  departed,  from  the  Requiem  to  the  Requiescat, 
while  six  monks  of  different  orders  said  six  Low  Masses 
at  the  side  altars  of  the  church. 

Then,  at  a  given  moment,  he  went,  escorted  by  two 
monks,  and  bowed  before  the  high  altar.  Kneeling  at 
the  feet  of  the  prior,  he  said: 

"I  ask  and  supplicate  Thee,  O  arbiter  and  sovereign  of 
our  life  and  of  our  death,  that,  just  as  the  priest  takes  from 
my  hands  with  his  this  torch  which  I  offer  him  in  all  humil- 
ity, Thou  mayest  deign  to  receive*  my  soul,  which  I  com- 
mend to  Thy  divine  clemency,  and  take  it,  when  it  is  Thy 
will,  into  the  bosom  of  Thy  infinite  goodness  and  mercy!" 

Then  the  prior  placed  the  taper  in  a  silver  chandelier 
of  great  size,  which  the  counterfeit  departed  had  presented 
to  the  monastery  for  this  grand  occasion. 

After  this  Charles  rose,  and,  always  accompanied  by  the 


two  monks,  who  followed  him  as  his  shadow,  he  went  and 
took  his  seat. 

The  Mass  over,  the  Emperor  judged  that  there  remained 
something  for  him  to  do,  and  that  they  had  forgotten  the 
most  important  part  of  the  ceremony:  he  then  had  a  flag- 
stone in  the  choir  raised,  and  ordered  a  black  velvet  cover- 
ing to  be  spread  over  the  bottom  of  the  ditch  which  had 
been  excavated  in  accordance  with  his  wishes,  and  a  pillow 
to  be  also  laid.  Then,  assisted  by  two  monks,  he  descended 
into  the  ditch,  stretched  himself  on  his  back,  with  his  hands 
crossed  over  his  breast  and  his  eyes  closed,  counterfeiting 
death  as  well  as  he  could. 

Immediately  the  officiating  priest  intoned  the  "De  Pro- 
fundis  Clamavi, ' '  and  while  the  choir  was  chanting  it,  all 
those  monks  clad  in  black,  all  those  gentlemen  and  servants 
in  mourning,  with  torches  in  their  hands,  shedding  tears, 
denied  around  the  deceased,  each  in  turn  sprinkling  holy 
water  and  wishing  eternal  rest  to  his  soul. 

The  number  carrying  holy  water  was  so  large  that  the 
ceremony  lasted  more  than  two  hours:  consequently,  the 
Emperor  was  quite  deluged  with  the  holy  water,  which 
pierced  through  his  black  robe;  this,  joined  to  the  cold 
and  biting  wind  which  blew  on  him  up  from  the  mortuary 
cellars  of  the  abbey  through  the  crevices  in  the  stone,  had 
such  an  effect  on  the  Emperor  that  he  was  shivering  fright- 
fully when,  after  all  had  left  the  church  except  himself  and 
his  two  monks,  he  regained  his  cell.  So  that,  feeling  him- 
self quaking  all  over — 

"I  do  not  know,  my  good  Fathers,"  he  said,  "if  it  was 
worth  while,  in  truth,  for  me  to  get  up  again." 

In  fact,  after  entering  his  cell,  Charles  Y.  had  to  take 
to  his  bed,  and,  once  in  bed,  he  never  did  get  up  again;  so 
that  in  less  than  a  month*  after  the  counterfeit  ceremony, 
the  real  ceremony  was  celebrated,  and  all  that  had  been 
prepared  for  the  fictitious  death  served  for  the  true  one. 

It  was  on  the  21st  of  September,  1558,  that  the  Emperor 
Charles  V.  rendered  the  last  sigh  in  the  arms  of  the  Arch- 


bishop  of  Toledo,  who  was  fortunately  at  Palencia,  and 
whom  the  dying  man  sent  for,  for  the  last  time,  according 
to  the  promise  he  had  made,  six  months  before,  to  summon 
him  at  the  hour  of  death. 

He  had  lived  fifty -seven  years,  seven  months,  and  twenty- 
one  days;  he  had  reigned  forty-four  years,  governed  the  em- 
pire thirty-eight,  and  as  he  had  been  born  on  the  festival 
of  one  apostle,  Saint- Mathias,  so  he  died  on  the  festival  of 
another  apostle,  Saint- Matthew;  namely,  on  the  21st  of 

Father  Strada  relates,  in  his  "History  of  Flanders,"  that 
on  the  very  night  of  the  death  of  Charles  V. ,  a  lily  flowered 
in  the  garden  of  the  monastery  of  Saint- Just;  of  which  fact 
the  monks  having  been  informed,  this  lily  was  exposed  on 
the  high  altar  as  an  evident  proof  of  the  whiteness  of  the 
soul  of  Charles  Y. 

History  is  a  beautiful  thing!  And  that  is  the  reason 
why,  not  considering  ourselves  worthy  to  be  a  historian, 
we  have  become  a  romancer. 




A  LITTLE  more  than  a  year  after  the  abdication  of 
Charles  V.  at  Brussels,  about  the  period  when  the 
ex- emperor  was  isolating  himself  from  the  world  in 
the  monastery  of  Saint- Just,  at  the  moment  when,  from  the 
heights  of  Saint- Grermain,  the  harvests  of  the  plain  could 
be  seen  yellowing  in  the  distance,  and  just  as  the  last  days 
of  July  were  rolling  their  clouds  of  flame  in  a  sky  of  azure, 
a  brilliant  cavalcade  was  issuing  forth  from  the  old  chateau 
and  advancing  into  the  park,  whose  fine  tall  trees  were  be- 
ginning to  take  on  those  warm  hues  which  the  painter  loves. 

A  brilliant  cavalcade,  if  ever  there  was  one!  for  it  was 
composed  of  King  Henri  II. ,  his  sister,  Madame  Marguerite 
of  France,  his  mistress,  the  beautiful  Duchesse  de  Valen- 
tinois,  his  daughter,  Elisabeth  de  Yalois,  the  young  Queen 
of  Scotland,  Mary  Stuart,  and  the  principal  lords  and  ladies 
who,  at  this  time,  made  the  ornament  and  glory  of  the 
House  of  Valois — a  house  that  succeeded  to  the  throne 
in  the  person  of  Fra^ois  L,  who  died,  as  we  have  said,  on 
the  31st  of  May,  1547. 

Moreover,  over  one  of  the  highest  balconies  of  the 
chateau  leaned  Queen  Catherine  de  Medicis,  resting  on  an 
iron  railing  wrought  as  delicately  as  lacework,  with  the  two 
young  princes  who  were  to  be  afterward  Charles  IX.  and 
Henri  III.,  but  now,  respectively,  seven  and  six  years  old; 
and  little  Marguerite,  five  years  of  age,  and  destined  to 

(9)— Vol.  20 


be  Queen  of  Navarre.  All  three,  as  we  may  see,  were 
too  young  to  accompany  their  father  to  the  hunt  which 
was  in  preparation. 

As  for  Queen  Catherine,  she  had  made  a  slight  indispo- 
sition the  pretext  for  not  forming  one  of  the  hunting  party; 
and  as  Queen  Catherine  was  one  of  those  women  who  never 
do  anything  without  a  reason,  we  may  be  very  sure  she  had, 
if  not  a  real  indisposition,  at  least  a  reason  for  being  in- 

All  the  personages  we  have  named  being  required  to 
take  a  very  active  part  in  the  story  we  have  undertaken 
to  relate,  the  reader  will  permit  us,  before  taking  up  the 
broken  thread  of  events,  to  place  before  his  eyes  a  physical 
and  moral  picture  of  these  personages. 

Let  us  begin  with  Henri  II.,  who  was  riding  in  advance, 
having  on  his  right  Madame  Marguerite,  his  sister,  and  on 
his  left  the  Duchesse  de  Yalentinois. 

He  was  at  this  time  a  handsome,  haughty  chevalier  of 
thirty-nine  years,  with  black  eyebrows,  black  eyes,  black 
beard,  a  swarthy  complexion,  aquiline  nose,  and  fine  white 
teeth;  not  so  tall,  not  so  muscular  as  his  father,  but  with 
a  form  admirably  proportioned,  which  was  above  the  middle 
height;  fond  of  war  to  that  degree  that,  when  he  had  not 
one  in  his  own  states  or  in  those  of  his  neighbors,  he  wished 
to  have  the  semblance  of  one  in  his  court  and  in  the  midst 
of  his  pleasures. 

And  so,  even  in  times  of  peace,  King  Henri  II. — having 
barely  that  tincture  of  letters  necessary  for  the  dispensation 
of  honorable  rewards  to  poets,  his  opinions  on  whom  were 
ready  made,  being  all  received  from  his  sister  Marguerite, 
his  mistress,  the  fair  Diane,  or  his  charming  little  ward, 
Mary  Stuart — so,  even  in  times  of  peace,  we  repeat,  King 
Henri  II.  was  the  least  idle  man  in  his  realm.  Here  is  how 
he  divided  his  days: 

His  mornings  and  evenings — that  is  to  say,  the  hours 
after  rising  and  before  retiring — were  devoted  to  business; 
two  hours  in  the  morning  were  usually  sufficient  for  the  pur- 


pose.  Then  lie  heard  Mass  very  piously ;  for  he  was  a  good 
Catholic,  as  he  proved  when  he  declared  he  would  like 
to  see  Jean  Dubourg,  counsellor  to  the  Parliament,  burned 
with  his  own  eyes — a  pleasure  he  could  not  have,  however, 
as  he  died  six  months  before  the  poor  Huguenot  was  sent  to 
the  stake.  He  dined  at  noon,  after  which  he  paid  a  visit, 
accompanied  by  the  lords  and  ladies  of  his  court,  to  Queen 
Catherine,  with  whom  he  found,  as  Brantome  tells  us,  a 
crowd  of  human  goddesses,  one  lovelier  than  the  other. 
Then,  while  he  entertained  the  queen,  or  madame  his 
sister,  or  the  little  queen  dauphiness,  Mary  Stuart,  or 
his  eldest  daughters,  each  lord  and  geAtleman  did  the 
same  as  the  king,  chatting  with  the  lady  who  pleased  him 
best.  This  lasted  nearly  two  hours ;  then  the  king  passed  to 
his  exercises.  During  summer  these  exercises  were  tennis. 

Henri  II.  was  passionately  fond  of  tennis;  not  that  he 
was  a  very  skilful  player,  but  he  played  second  or  tierce; 
that  is  to  say,  he  always  selected,  in  harmony  with  his  ad- 
venturous character,  the  most  dangerous  or  most  difficult 
posts;  so  he  was  the  best  second  and  the  best  tierce  in  his 
kingdom,  to  use  the  language  of  the  period.  Moreover,  it 
was  he  who  always  defrayed  the  expenses  of  the  game, 
whether  he  won  or  lost:  if  he  won,  he  abandoned  the  win- 
nings to  his  partners ;  if  the  latter  lost,  he  paid  for  them. 

The  stakes  were  "usually  from  five  to  six  hundred 
crowns,  and  not,  as  in  the  case  of  the  kings  his  successors, 
four  thousand,  six  thousand,  ten  thousand  crowns.  ''But," 
says  Brantome,  "the  payments  were  made  at  once,  while  in 
our  day  you  are  obliged  to  submit  to  any  number  of  honor- 
able compositions." 

The  other  exercises  of  the  king  held  a  secondary  place 
in  his  esteem,  but  in  them  he  was  very  adroit  also. 

If  it  was  winter,  and  there  was  a  hard  frost,  the  court  set 
out  for  Fontainebleau,  and  there  was  sliding  either  on  the 
avenues  of  the  park  or  on  the  ponds.  When  the  snow  had 
been  excessive,  bastions  were  erected,  and  there  was  a  battle 
of  snowballs;  finally,  if  it  rained  instead  of  snowing,  they 


scattered  among  the  halls  on  the  ground- floors,  and  prac- 
ticed fencing. 

M.  de  Boucard  had  been  the  victim  of  this  latter  exer- 
cise. The  king,  when  dauphin,  happened,  while  fencing 
with  him,  to  destroy  one  of  his  eyes — an  accident  for  which 
he  politely  begged  his  pardon,  says  the  author  from  whom  we 
borrow  these  details. 

The  ladies  of  the  court  were  present  at  all  these  exer- 
cises, summer  and  winter,  the  opinion  of  the  king  being 
that  their  presence  spoiled  nothing,  and  gave  a  grace  to 
many  things. 

In  the  evening,  after  supper,  they  returned  to  the  queen; 
and  when  there  was  no  ball — an  amusement,  for  that  matter, 
rare  enough  at  the  time — two  hours  were  spent  in  conver- 
sation. The  poets  and  men  of  letters  were  introduced; 
namely,  MM.  Eonsard,  Dorat,  and  Muret — as  clever  Limou- 
sins as  ever  munched  a  turnip,  says  Brantome — and  MM. 
Danesius  and  Amyot,  the  tutors  of  Prince  Fra^ois  and 
Prince  Charles,  respectively;  and  then  there  was  between 
these  illustrious  jousters  assaults  of  science  and  poesy  which 
much  delighted  the  ladies. 

One  thing — when  by  some  chance  it  was  thought  of — 
cast  a  veil  of  mourning  over  this  noble  court;  it  was  an 
unfortunate  prediction  made  on  the  day  of  King  Henri's 
accession  to  the  throne. 

A  soothsayer,  summoned  to  the  chateau  to  draw  his 
nativity,  had  announced,  in  presence  of  the  Connetable 
Montmorency,  that  the  king  would  die  in  single  combat. 
Thereupon,  the  latter,  quite  joyous  because  such  a  death 
was  promised  him,  turned  to  the  constable,  saying — 

"Do  you  hear,  gossip,  what  this  man  promises  me  ?" 

The  constable,  believing  the  king  frightened  at  the  pre- 
diction, answered  with  his  customary  brutality : 

"What,  sire!  would  you  believe  these  rascals,  who  are 
nothing  but  liars  and  babblers  ?  Let  me  fling  the  predic- 
tion in  the  fire,  and  him  along  with  it,  to  teach  such  knaves 
not  to  humbug  us  with  such  trickery!" 


But  the  king  answered,  "By  no  means,  gossip;  it  some- 
times happens,  on  the  contrary,  that  these  people  tell  the 
truth.  And,  besides,  the  prediction  is  not  a  bad  one,  in 
my  opinion.  I  would  rather  die  that  death  than  any  other, 
provided,  of  course,  that  I  fall  beneath  the  stroke  of  a  brave 
and  valiant  gentleman,  and  that  my  glory  remain  intact. ' ' 

And,  instead  of  flinging  the  prediction  and  the  astrol- 
oger into  the  fire,  he  munificently  rewarded  the  latter,  and 
gave  the  prediction  into  the  keeping  of  M.  de  I'Aubespine, 
one  of  his  good  counsellors,  whom  he  specially  employed 
in  diplomatic  affairs. 

This  prediction  was  again  discussed  for  a  moment  when 
M.  de  Chatillon  returned  from  Brussels;  for  it  will  be  re- 
membered that  Charles  V. ,  in  the  little  house  in  the  park, 
had  requested  the  admiral  to  warn  his  fair  cousin  Henri 
that  his  captain  of  the  Scotch  Guard,  Gabriel  de  Lorges, 
Comte  de  Montgomery,  had  between  the  eyes  a  fatal  sign 
presaging  the  death  of  one  of  the  princes  of  the  fleur-de-lis. 

But,  reflecting  on  the  matter,  King  Henri  II.  saw  the 
little  probability  there  was  of  a  duel  between  him  and  his 
captain  of  the  Guards,  and,  after  classing  the  first  prophecy 
among  things  possible  and  deserving  attention,  he  classed 
the  second  among  things  impossible  deserving  no  attention 
at  all ;  so  that,  instead  of  separating  from  Gabriel  de  Lorges, 
as  would  perhaps  have  done  a  prince  less  timid,  he,  on  the 
contrary,  redoubled  his  favor  and  familiarity  toward  him. 

We  have  said  that  Madame  Marguerite  of  France,  daugh- 
ter of  Frangois  I.,  was  riding  on  the  king's  right. 

Let  us  turn  our  attention,  for  a  moment,  to  this  princess, 
one  of  the  most  accomplished  of  the  age,  and  more  closely 
connected  with  our  subject  than  any  other. 

The  Princess  Marguerite  of  France  was  born  on  the 
5th  of  June,  1523,  in  that  same  chateau  of  Saint- Germain 
through  whose  door  we  have  just  passed;  hence  it  follows 
that,  at  the  moment  we  make  her  pass  under  the  eyes  of 
the  reader,  she  was  thirty -three  years  and  nine  months 


How  was  it  that  so  great  and  fair  a  princess  remained  so 
long  without  a  spouse?  For  this  there  were  two  reasons: 
the  first  she  had  told  aloud  and  before  all;  the  second  she 
did  dare,  perhaps,  to  whisper  to  herself. 

When  she  was  quite  a  young  girl,  Frangois  I.  desired  to 
marry  her  to  M.  de  Yendome,  first  prince  of  the  blood;  but 
she,  proud  even  to  disdain,  replied  that  she  would  never 
marry  a  man  who  must  some  day  be  the  subject  of  the  king 
her  brother. 

This  was  the  reason  she  gave  aloud  for  remaining  single, 
and  not  falling  from  her  rank  as  a  princess  of  France. 

Let  us  now  look  at  the  reason  she  whispered  to  herself, 
and  which  was  probably  the  true  cause  of  her  refusal. 

At  the  time  of  the  interview  at  Nice  between  Pope  Paul 
III.  and  FranQois  L,  the  Queen  of  Navarre,  by  order  of  the 
king,  visited  the  late  Duke  of  Savoy  in  the  castle  of  Nice, 
accompanied  by  her  niece,  Madame  Marguerite.  Now,  the 
old  duke  thought  the  young  princess  charming,  and  spoke 
of  a  marriage  between  her  and  Emmanuel  Philibert.  The 
two  children  saw  each  other;  but  Emmanuel,  entirely  de- 
voted to  the  exercises  of  his  age,  to  his  affection  for  Leona, 
and  his  friendship  for  Scianca-Ferro,  hardly  noticed  the 
young  princess.  It  was  not  the  same  with  her;  the  image 
of  the  young  prince  had  made  a  strong  impression  upon  her 
heart,  and  when  negotiations  were  broken  off,  and  war  was 
resumed  between  the  King  of  France  and  the  Duke  of 
Savoy,  she  suffered  from  real  despair — a  childish  despair 
to  which  no  one  paid  any  attention,  and  which,  for  a  long 
time,  fed  with  her  tears,  had  changed  to  a  gentle  melan- 
choly, encouraged  by  that  vague  hope  which  never  deserts 
tender  and  believing  hearts. 

Twenty  years  had  vanished  since  that  epoch;  and  now, 
under  one  pretext  or  another,  Marguerite  refused  the  hand 
of  every  suitor  proposed  to  her. 

While  waiting  for  the  chances  of  fate  or  the  decrees  of 
Providence  to  second  her  secret  wishes,  she  had  grown,  had 
advanced  in  years,  and  was  now  a  charming  princess,  full 


of  grace,  pleasantness,  and  tender  compassion,  with  beau- 
tiful blond  hair,  the  color  of  golden  ears  of  corn,  chestnut 
eyes,  the  nose  a  little  pronounced,  thick  lips,  and  a  com- 
plexion of  a  lovely  white  tinged  with  rose. 

We  have  said  that  on  the  other  side  of  the  king  rode 
Diane  de  Poitiers,  Comtesse  de  Breze,  daughter  of  that 
Sieur  de  Saint- Vallier  who,  as  an  accomplice  of  the  Con- 
netable  de  Bourbon,  had  been  condemned  to  be  beheaded 
on  the  Greve,  and  who,  when  kneeling  under  the  sword  of 
the  executioner,  had  been  pardoned — if  the  thing  can  be 
called  a  pardon — and  had  his  sentence  commuted  to  per- 
petual imprisonment 4l within  four  walls,  the  floor  and  roof 
both  built  of  stone,  and  with  one  little  window  only,  through 
which  he  was  to  receive  whatever  he  ate  and  drank. ' ' 

Everything  connected  with  Diane  was  mystery  and  mar- 
vel. She  was  born  in  1499,  and  had,  at  the  period  we  are 
describing,  reached  the  age  of  fifty-eight  years;  yet,  by  her 
apparent  youth  and  real  beauty,  she  threw  the  fairest  and 
youngest  princesses  of  the  court  into  the  shade;  so  that 
the  king  loved  her  before  all  and  above  all. 

Some  of  the  mysterious  and  marvellous  things  told  of 
the  fair  Diane,  who  had  been  created  Duchesse  de  Yalen- 
tinois  by  Henri  II.  in  1548,  were  the  following: 

In  the  first  place,  she  was  most  undoubtedly  descended 
from  the  fairy  Melusine,  and  the  king's  love  and  her  won- 
derfully preserved  beauty  were  both  results  of  this  descent. 
Diane  de  Poitiers  inherited  from  her  ancestress,  the  great 
sorceress,  the  double  secret,  a  secret  rare  and  magical,  of 
being  always  beautiful  and  always  beloved. 

Diane,  it  was  stated,  owed  this  eternal  beauty  to  soups 
composed  of  potable  gold.  We  know  what  an  important 
ingredient  was  potable  gold  in  the  chemical  preparations 
of  the  Middle  Ages. 

This  love  without  end  was  due  to  a  magical  ring  the 
king  had  received  from  her,  and  which  had  the  virtue  of 
binding  his  love  to  her  as  long  as  he  wore  it. 

The  last  report  attained  particular  credit,  for  Madame 


de  Nemours  used  to  relate,  to  all  who  cared  to  listen,  the 
anecdote  we  are  about  to  relate  in  our  turn. 

The  king  having  fallen  sick,  Queen  Catherine  de  Me*dicis 
said  to  Madame  de  Nemours: 

1 '  My  dear  duchess,  the  king  has  a  great  affection  for  you. 
Go  to  his  chamber,  sit  near  the  bed,  and,  while  talking  with 
him,  try  to  take  from  the  third  finger  of  the  left  hand  the 
ring  he  wears  on  it;  it  is  a  talisman  given  him  by  Madame 
de  Valentinois  to  make  him  love  her." 

Now,  nobody  in  the  court  felt  any  very  deep  affection 
for  Madame  de  Yalentinois,  not  that  she  was  ill-natured, 
but  the  young  did  not  like  her  because  she  was  so  obstinate 
in  continuing  young,  and  the  old  women  detested  her  be- 
cause she  would  not  become  old.  Madame  de  Nemours 
willingly  took  charge  of  the  commission ;  and,  having  made 
her  way  into  the  king's  chamber,  and  sat  down  near  the 
bed,  she  succeeded  in  sportively  drawing  the  ring  from 
Henri's  finger,  he  himself  being  quite  ignorant  of  its  virtue. 
But  the  ring  was  scarcely  off  the  sick  man's  finger  when 
he  begged  Madame  de  Nemours  to  whistle  for  his  valet  de 
chambre.  We  know  that,  up  to  the  time  of  Madame 
de  Maintenon,  who  invented  bells,  the  gold  or  silver 
whistle  was  used  by  kings,  princes,  and  great  lords  for 
summoning  their  people.  The  sick  man  then  had  begged 
Madame  de  Nemours  to  whistle  for  his  valet  de  chambre, 
who,  having  entered  immediately,  received  the  king's  order 
to  close  his  doors  to  all  comers. 

''Even  to  Madame  de  Yalentinois?"  asked  the  aston- 
ished valet. 

"To  Madame  de  Yalentinois  as  to  others,"  answered  the 
king,  sharply;  "the  order  admits  no  exception.  " 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  afterward  Madame  de  Yalentinois 
presented  herself  at  the  king's  door,  and  was  refused  ad- 

She  returned  at  the  end  of  an  hour:  same  refusal. 
Finally,  at  the  end  of  two  hours,  in  spite  of  a  third  refusal, 
she  forced  the  door,  entered,  marched  straight  up  to  the 


king,  took  his  hand,  perceived  that  the  ring  was  missing, 
made  him  confess  what  had  passed,  and  insisted  on  Henri's 
getting  the  ring  back  from  Madame  de  Nemours.  The 
king's  order  to  surrender  the  precious  jewel  was  so  per- 
emptory that  Madame  de  Nemours,  who  had  not  yet  de- 
livered it  to  Catherine  de  Medicis,  grew  frightened  at  the 
consequences,  and  sent  it  back.  The  ring  once  again  on 
the  king's  finger,  the  fairy  resumed  all  her  power,  which, 
indeed,  since  that  day  had  gone  on  increasing. 

In  spite  of  the  grave  authorities  who  relate  the  history — 
and  note  well  that  for  the  potable  gold  we  have  no  less 
a  witness  than  Brantome,  while  to  the  truth  of  the  affair 
of  the  ring,  we  have  the  solemn  affirmations  of  De  Thou 
and  Pasquier — we  are  tempted  to  believe  that  the  beauty 
of  Diane  de  Poitiers  was  unconnected  with  the  miraculous, 
a  beauty  which  was  to  have  its  counterpart  a  hundred  years 
later  in  the  case  of  Ninon  de  Lenclos ;  and  we  are  disposed 
to  accept,  as  the  only  and  true  magic  used  by  her,  that  con- 
tained in  the  receipt  she  gave  to  any  one  for  the  asking; 
namely,  a  bath  of  spring  water  in  all  weathers,  even  the 
coldest.  Besides,  every  morning  she  rose  with  the  lark, 
rode  for  two  hours,  and  on  her  return  went  to  bed  again, 
where  she  stayed  till  noon,  reading,  or  chatting  with  her 

But  this  has  not  been  all:  everything  in  connection  with 
the  fair  Diane  has  been  a  subject  of  controversy,  and  the 
gravest  historians  would  seem,  in  her  regard,  to  have  for- 
gotten this  first  condition  of  history,  which  is  to  always 
have  the  proof  standing  behind  the  accusation. 

Mezeray  relates — and  we  are  not  sorry  to  catch  Me*zeray 
in  a  blunder — that  Frangois  I.  granted  the  pardon  of  Jean 
de  Poitiers,  father  of  Diane,  only  after  he  had  deprived  the 
daughter  of  the  most  valuable  thing  she  possessed.  Now  this 
took  place  in  1523;  Diane,  born  in  1499,  was  twenty-four 
at  the  time,  and  had  been  married  to  Louis  de  Breze*  for  ten 
years.  We  do  not  say  that  Frangois  I.,  a  monarch  chary 
in  exacting  his  dues,  did  not  impose  certain  conditions  on 


the  fair  Diane ;  but  it  was  not,  as  Mezeray  says,  on  a  young 
girl  of  fourteen  that  he  imposed  these  conditions,  and  unless 
we  want  to  caluminate  poor  M.  de  Bre'ze',  to  whom  his 
widow  raised  that  magnificent  monument  still  admired  in 
Rouen,  we  cannot  imagine  he  allowed  the  king  to  deprive 
a  woman  of  twenty -four  of  the  most  valuable  thing  she 
possessed  at  fourteen. 

All  we  have  written  has,  for  that  matter,  only  one  ob- 
ject: to  prove  to  our  fair  readers  that  the  history  written 
by  romancers  is  far  superior  to  the  history  written  by  his- 
torians; in  the  first  place,  because  it  is  truer,  and  in  the 
second,  because  it  is  more  amusing. 

To  make  a  long  story  short,  Diane,  though  at  this  period 
twenty-six  years  a  widow  and  twenty -one  years  King  Henri's 
mistress,  had,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  she  was  fully  fifty- 
eight,  the  smoothest  and  loveliest  complexion  that  could 
be  seen,  curly  hair  of  the  most  bewitching  black,  a  form 
of  admirable  symmetry,  and  a  faultless  neck  and  throat. 

This  was  the  opinion  of  old  Conne'table  Montmorency, 
who,  notwithstanding  his  sixty-four  years,  claimed  to  enjoy 
quite  peculiar  privileges  in  the  case  of  the  beautiful  duchess 
— privileges  which  would  have  rendered  the  king  very  jeal- 
ous, if  it  were  not  an  admitted  fact  that  it  is  always  the 
people  interested  in  being  the  first  to  know  a  thing  who 
know  it  last,  and  sometimes  never  know  it  at  all. 

We  ask  pardon  for  this  long  historico- critical  digression; 
but  if  any  woman  in  that  graceful,  lettered  and  gallant  court 
deserved  the  trouble  of  it,  surely  it  was  she  who  made  her 
royal  lover  wear  her  colors  as  a  widow — black  and  white — 
and  adopt  the  crescent  for  an  escutcheon  inspired  by  her 
fine  pagan  name  of  Diane,  with  these  words  for  a  motto: 
Donee  totum  impleat  orbem  ! 

We  have  said  that  behind  King  Henri  II.,  having  on 
his  right  Madame  Marguerite  of  France,  and  on  his  left  the 
Duchesse  de  Valentinois,  came  the  Dauphin  Frangois,  hav- 
ing on  his  right  his  sister  Elisabeth,  and  on  his  left  his 
betrothed,  Mary  Stuart. 


The  dauphin  was  fourteen,  Elisabeth  thirteen,  Mary 
Stuart  thirteen — forty  years  in  all. 

The  dauphin  was  a  weak  and  sickly  child,  with  pale 
complexion  and  chestnut  hair.  His  eyes  were  dull  and 
expressionless,  except  when  they  looked  upon  Mary  Stu- 
art; for  then  they  became  animated,  and  had  an  expres- 
sion of  desire  which  turned  the  child  into  a  young  man. 
Moreover,  he  was  little  inclined  toward  the  violent  exer- 
cises in  which  his  father  delighted,  and  seemed  the  prey 
of  an  incessant  languor,  the  cause  of  which  was  vainly 
sought  for  by  his  physicians.  They  would  have  found  it, 
perhaps,  according  to  the  pamphlets  of  the  time,  in  the 
chapter  of  Suetonius 's  "Twelve  Caesars,"  where  he  relates 
the  rides  of  Nero  in  a  litter  with  his  mother,  Agrippina. 
Still,  let  us  hasten  to  say  it,  Catherine  cle  Medicis,  both  as 
a  Catholic  and  a  foreigner,  was  hated  by  one  party,  and 
we  should  not  believe,  without  careful  scrutiny,  everything 
related  in  the  pasquinades,  ribald  songs,  and  satires  of  the 
times,  almost  all  products  of  the  Calvinistic  press.  The  pre- 
mature deaths  of  the  young  princes,  Fra^ois  and  Charles, 
to  whom  their  mother  preferred  Henri,  contributed  not  a 
little  to  give  credit  to  all  these  malicious  rumors  which 
have  traversed  the  ages,  and  have  come  down  to  us,  wearing 
an  aspect  of  almost  historic  authenticity. 

The  Princess  Elisabeth,  although  a  year  younger  than 
the  dauphin,  was  much  more  of  a  young  woman  than  he 
was  of  a  young  man.  Her  birth  had  been  at  once  a  private 
joy  and  a  public  happiness;  for,  at  the  very  moment  she 
appeared  in  the  world,  peace  was  signed  between  Francois 
I.  and  Henry  VIII.  Thus,  she  who  by  her  marriage  was  to 
bring  about  peace  with  Spain,  by  her  birth  brought  about 
peace  with  England.  Besides,  her  father,  Henri  II.,  held 
her  in  such  esteem  for  her  beauty  and  character  that,  hav- 
ing married  her  younger  sister,  Madame  Claude,  to  the  Due 
de  Lorraine,  he  replied  to  some  one  who  was  remonstrating 
with  him  on  the  wrong  this  marriage  did  the  elder:  "My 
daughter  Elisabeth  is  not  one  of  those  who  are  satisfied 


with  a  duchy  for  dowry;  she  needs  a  kingdom,  and  not 
one  of  the  minor  kingdoms  either,  but  one  of  the  grandest 
and  noblest,  so  grand  and  noble  is  she  herself  in  everything !" 

She  won  the  kingdom  promised  her,  and  with  it  misfor- 
tune and  death. 

Alas!  a  better  fate  was  not  awaiting  that  lovely  Mary 
who  rode  on  the  left  of  the  dauphin,  her  betrothed ! 

There  are  misfortunes  which  have  such  a  reverberation 
that  they  have  awakened  an  echo  through  the  whole  world, 
and  which,  having  attracted  to  their  objects  the  gaze  of 
their  contemporaries,  still  attract  to  them  the  eyes  of  pos- 
terity whenever  the  utterance  of  some  name  recalls  them. 

Such  are  the  misfortunes — misfortunes  somewhat  de- 
served, perhaps — of  the  fair  Mary.  They  have  so  far  sur- 
passed the  ordinary  measure  that  the  faults,  even  crimes, 
of  the  guilty  queen  have  disappeared  in  presence  of  the 
exaggeration  of  the  chastisement. 

But,  all  the  same,  the  little  Queen  of  Scotland  followed 
joyously  her  path  in  a  life  saddened  at  its  beginning  by  the 
death  of  her  father,  the  chivalrous  James  V. ;  her  mother 
wore  for  her  that  Scottish  crown  of  thorns,  which,  accord- 
ing to  the  words  of  her  father,  "came  with  a  lass  and  would 
go  with  a  lass!"  On  the  20th  of  August,  1548,  she  arrived 
at  Morlaix,  and  for  the  first  time  touched  the  soil  of  France, 
where  her  happiest  days  were  passed.  She  brought  with  her 
that  garland  of  Scotch  roses  called  the  Four  Marys,  who 
were  of  the  same  age,  born  in  the  same  year  and  month  as 
herself,  and  who  were  named  Mary  Fleming,  Mary  Seaton, 
Mary  Livingstone  and  Mary  Beaton.  She  was  at  this  time 
an  adorable  child,  and,  as  she  grew,  became  an  adorable 
young  girl.  Her  uncles,  the  Guises,  who  believed  they  saw 
in  her  the  realization  of  all  their  ambitious  projects,  and 
who,  not  content  with  extending  their  sway  over  France, 
dreamed  of  extending  it  by  her  means  over  Scotland,  per- 
haps over  England,  made  her  the  object  of  their  ardent 
worship.  Thus  the  Cardinal  de  Lorraine  wrote  to  his  sis- 
ter, Marie  de  Guise: 


' '  Your  daughter  has  increased,  and  is  every  day  increas- 
ing in  goodness,  beauty,  and  virtue;  the  king  spends  his 
time  conversing  with  her,  and  she  addresses  him  in  words 
as  good  and  wise  as  would  a  woman  of  twenty-five  years 
of  age." 

But  it  was  now  the  bud  of  this  impassioned  rose  that  was 
opening  to  love  and  pleasure.  Not  knowing  how  to  do  any- 
thing which  did  not  please  her,  she  did,  on  the  contrary, 
with  ardor,  everything  that  pleased  her:  did  she  dance,  it 
was  until  she  fell  exhausted;  did  she  ride,  it  was  at  a  gal- 
lop, and  until  the  best  steed  was  worn  out;  did  she  attend 
a  concert,  the  music  sent  through  her  electric  thrills. 

Sparkling  with  precious  stones,  flattered,  caressed,  and 
adored,  she  was,  at  the  age  of  thirteen,  one  of  the  marvels 
of  that  court  of  Valois,  so  full  of  marvels.  Catherine  de 
Medicis,  who  was  not  specially  fond  of  her  son,  said,  "Our 
little  Scottish  queen  has  only  to  smile  to  turn  all  French 
heads. ' ' 

Ronsard  said: 

Midst  the  lilies  of  Spring  her  fair  body  was  born, 
Of  whose  whiteness  a  copy  the  lily  alone  is, 
And  the  bloom  on  her  red  cheeks  laughed  to  scorn 
The  roses  tinged  with  the  blood  of  Adonis. 
The  darts  in  her  eyes  were  Love's  own  darts, 
And  the  heavenly  Graces,  with  zeal  and  fervor, 
Imparted  to  her  all  that  heaven  imparts 
And  left  their  abodes  from  a  craving  to  serve  her. 

And  of  all  these  charming  flatteries,  the  royal  child  could 
comprehend  the  delicate  shades:  prose  and  verse  had  no  se- 
crets from  her.  She  spoke  Greek,  Latin,  Italian,  English, 
Spanish  and  French;  and  while  poetry  and  science  made 
for  her  a  crown,  the  other  arts  had  her  protection.  The 
court  was  constantly  changing  its  place  of  residence;  and 
so  she  was  led  with  it  from  Saint- Germain  to  Chambord, 
from  Chambord  to  Fontainebleau,  from  Fontainebleau  to 
the  Louvre.  There  she  grew  more  fascinating  every  day 
beneath  the  ceilings  of  Primatice,  in  the  midst  of  the  can- 


vases  of  Titian,  the  frescoes  of  Eosso,  the  masterpieces  of 
Leonardo  da  Yinci,  the  statues  of  Germain  Pilon,  the  sculp- 
tures of  Jean  Goujon,  the  monuments,  porticoes,  chapels  of 
Philibert  Delorme;  so  that  any  one  seeing  her  so  poetic, 
so  charming,  so  perfect  among  all  those  marvels  of  genius, 
would  be  tempted  to  believe  that  she  was  not  a  visible  cre- 
ation belonging  to  humanity,  but  rather  some  metamorpho- 
sis, like  that  of  Galatea,  some  Yenus  detached  from  the 
canvas,  some  Hebe  descended  from  the  pedestal. 

And  now,  as  we  lack  the  pencil  of  the  painter,  we  can 
only  try,  with  the  pen  of  the  romancer,  to  give  an  idea  of 
that  intoxicating  loveliness. 

She  was,  we  have  said,  about  fourteen  years  old.  Her 
complexion  was  a  blending  of  the  lily,  the  peach,  and  the 
rose,  with  a  little  more  of  the  lily,  perhaps,  than  of  all 
the  rest.  Her  forehead  was  high  and  rounded  in  the  upper 
part,  and  seemed  the  fitting  seat  of  lofty  dignity,  being  at 
once — strange  mixture — full  of  gentleness,  intelligence  and 
daring.  One  felt  that  the  will  inclosed  by  that  forehead,  if 
directed  toward  love  and  pleasure,  would  leap  beyond  ordi- 
nary passions,  and  when  its  voluptuous  and  despotic  in- 
stincts should  need  satisfaction,  would  not  hesitate  even  at 
crime.  Her  nose,  fine  and  delicate,  yet  firm,  was  aquiline, 
like  those  of  the  Guises.  Her  ear  was  small,  and  with  the 
convolutions  of  a  shell  of  mother  of  pearl,  irised  with  rose 
under  the  palpitating  temple.  Her  brown  eyes,  of  that  tint 
which  wavers  between  chestnut  and  violet,  were  of  a  humid 
transparency,  and,  however  full  of  flame,  under  chestnut 
lashes  and  eyebrows  designed  with  an  antique  purity.  In 
fine,  two  charming  curves  formed  a  mouth  with  purple 
lips,  tremulous  and  half -opened,  which,  in  smiling,  seemed 
to  spread  joy  around  her,  and  which  surmounted  a  vigorous 
chin,  white,  rounded,  and  lost  in  contours  which  insensibly 
united  with  an  undulating,  velvety  neck  like  that  of  a  swan. 

Such  was  the  young  girl  whom  Eonsard  and  Du  Bellay 
named  their  tenth  Muse;  such  was  the  head  destined  thirty- 
one  years  later  to  rest  on  the  block  of  Fotheringay,  and 


to  be  separated  from  the  body  by  the  axe  of  Elizabeth's 

Alas !  if  a  magician  came  and  told  all  that  crowd,  gazing 
upon  the  brilliant  cavalcade,  plunging  under  the  great  trees 
of  the  park  of  Saint- Grermain,  the  fate  that  awaited  these 
kings  and  princes  and  princesses,  these  great  lords  and  great 
ladies,  is  there  a  woollen  jacket  or  a  drugget  gown  that 
would  have  changed  its  lot  for  that  of  these  fine  gentlemen 
in  silks  and  velvets,  or  of  these  fair  dames  with  corsages 
embroidered  with  pearls  and  gold-brocaded  petticoats? 

Let  us  allow  them  to  wander  under  the  gloomy  vaults 
of  chestnut  and  beech,  and  return  to  the  chateau  of  Saint- 
Grermain,  where  we  have  said  that  Catherine  de  Medicis 
remained,  under  pretext  of  a  slight  indisposition. 



HAKDLY  had  the  pages  and  equerries,  forming  the  last 
ranks  of  the  cortege,  disappeared  in  the  depths  of  the 
coppices  which  succeed  the  great  trees,  and  which, 
at  this  period,  made  a  sort  of  girdle  to  the  park  of  Saint- 
Germain,  before  Catherine  withdrew  from  the  balcony,  lead- 
ing Charles  and  Henri  with  her,  and  then,  sending  the  elder 
away  to  his  professor,  and  the  younger  to  his  woman  attend- 
ants, she  remained  alone  with  the  little  Marguerite,  still  too 
young  for  people  to  trouble  themselves  about  what  she 
might  see  or  hear. 

When  Catherine's  two  sons  were  gone,  her  confidential 
valet  de  chambre  entered,  and  announced  that  the  two  persons 
she  expected  were  at  her  orders,  in  her  cabinet. 

She  rose  immediately,  hesitated  an  instant  to  consider 
whether  she  would  not  dismiss  the  young  princess,  as  she 
had  dismissed  the  young  princes,  but,  doubtless  judging 


her  presence  of  little  danger,  she  took  her  by  the  hand, 
and  proceeded  toward  her  cabinet. 

Catherine  de  Medicis  was  at  this  time  a  woman  of  thirty- 
eight  years,  of  a  fine  and  generous  presence,  and  of  great 
majesty.  Her  dark  eyes  were  almost  always  half  closed, 
except  when  she  felt  it  necessary  to  read  to  the  bottom  of 
the  hearts  of  her  enemies ;  then  their  look  had  the  twofold 
brilliancy  and  the  twofold  keenness  of  two  blades  drawn 
from  their  scabbards,  and  plunged  at  the  same  time  into 
the  same  breast,  where  they  remained  buried  until  its  most 
secret  recesses  were  explored. 

She  had  suffered  much,  and  had  smiled  much  to  hide  her 
sufferings.  At  first,  during  the  ten  years  of  her  marriage — 
which  were  barren,  and  during  which  it  was  twenty  times 
debated  whether  she  should  not  be  repudiated,  and  a  new 
spouse  given  to  the  dauphin — her  husband's  love  pro- 
tected her  and  struggled  obstinately  against  the  most 
terrible  of  all  reasons — a  state  reason.  Finally,  in  1544, 
after  being  married  eleven  years,  she  gave  birth  to  Prince 

But  her  husband  had  already  become  the  lover  of  Diane 
de  Poitiers  nine  years  before. 

Perhaps  if  she  had  been  a  happy  mother  and  a  fruitful 
spouse  from  the  beginning  of  her  marriage,  she  would,  as 
woman  and  queen,  have  struggled  against  the  fair  duchess; 
but  her  barrenness  reduced  her  to  a  lower  rank  than  that 
of  a  mistress. 

Instead  of  struggling,  she  yielded,  and  by  her  humility 
earned  the  protection  of  her  rival. 

Moreover,  all  these  brave  lords,  all  these  brilliant  war- 
riors who  had  no  esteem  for  any  nobility  that  had  not  its 
root  in  blood,  and  was  not  a  flower  gathered  on  the  field 
of  battle,  made  little  case  of  the  commercial  race  of  the 
Medicis.  They  played  on  the  name  and  on  the  coat  of 
arms:  her  ancestors  were  doctors,  medici ;  their  arms  were 
not  cannon-balls,  but  pills,  they  said. 

Mary  Stuart,   who   caressed  with   her  pretty  hand  the 


Duchesse  de  Yalentinois,  sometimes  used  the  same  hand 
as  a  claw  to  scratch  Catherine. 

' '  Are  you  coming  with  us  to  see  the  Florentine  trades- 
woman?" she  said  to  Connetable  de  Montmorency. 

Catherine  drank  all  these  insults  to  the  dregs:  she  was 
waiting.  What  was  she  waiting  for?  She  did  not  know 
herself  for  certain.  Henri  II.  was  of  the  same  age  as  she, 
and  his  health  promised  him  a  long  life.  No  matter;  she 
waited  with  the  obstinacy  of  genius,  which,  feeling  and  ap- 
preciating its  own  value,  understands  that  God  makes  noth- 
ing useless,  and  therefore  the  future  held  something  in  store 
for  her. 

At  this  time  she  belonged  to  the  party  of  the  Cruises. 
The  character  of  Henri  was  weak,  and  he  could  never  be 
sole  master:  now  he  was  master  with  the  constable,  and  the 
Cruises  were  in  disgrace ;  now  he  was  master  with  the  Cruises, 
and  it  was  the  constable  who  was  out  in  the  cold. 

And  so  the  following  quatrain  had  been  made  on 
Henri  II. 

Sire,  if  you  let  yourself  be  too  much  governed, 
And  kneaded,  melted,  this  and  that  way  turned, 
As  Charles  and  Diane  both  alike  require,  'tis  cire  (wax) 
You  are,  and  surely  no  more  sire. 

We  know  who  Diane  was;  as  to  Charles,  he  was  the 
Cardinal  de  Lorraine. 

And,  indeed,  the  family  of  Lorraine  was  a  proud  and 
noble  family.  One  day  came  Due  Claude  to  render  homage 
to  FranQois  I.  at  the  Louvre.  He  was  accompanied  by  his 
six  sons,  and  King  Fra^ois  said  to  him,  "My  cousin,  I  hold 
you  for  a  very  fortunate  man  to  see  yourself  renewed  before 
dying  in  such  a  fair  and  wealthy  posterity. ' ' 

These  words  were  true:  Due  Claude,  at  his  death,  left 
behind  him  the  richest,  ablest,  and  most  ambitious  family 
in  the  kingdom.  These  six  brothers,  presented  to  Frangois 
by  their  father,  possessed  a  revenue  of  about  eight  hundred 
thousand  livres;  that  is  to  say,  more  than  four  millions, 
according  to  the  value  of  money  at  present. 


First  came  the  eldest,  he  who  was  called  Due  Frangois 
le  Balafre;  the  great  Due  de  Guise,  in  fact.  His  position  at 
court  was  that  of  a  prince  of  the  blood.  He  had  a  chaplain, 
eight  secretaries,  twenty  pages,  eighty  officers,  kennels 
whose  tenants  were  only  inferior  to  the  greyhounds  of  the 
king,  "the  royal  pedigree,"  as  the  term  then  was;  stables 
filled  with  Arabian  horses  brought  from  Africa,  Turkey, 
and  Spain;  gerfalcons  and  falcons  beyond  price,  sent  him 
by  Soliman  and  all  the  infidel  princes,  who  presented  them 
to  him  as  tokens  of  their  respect  for  his  fame.  The  King 
of  Navarre  wrote  to  him  to  announce  the  birth  of  his  son, 
afterward  Henri  IV.  The  Conne'table  de  Montmorency,  the 
haughtiest  baron  of  his  age,  in  writing  to  him,  began  his 
letter  with  Monseigneur,  and  ended  with  Your  very  humble 
and  obedient  servant,  while  he,  on  the  other  hand,  ad- 
dressed him  as,  M.  le  Connetable  and  Your  very  good  friend; 
which,  for  that  matter,  was  far  from  being  true,  the  House 
of  Guise  and  the  House  of  Montmorency  being  at  eternal 

It  is  necessary  to  read  the  chronicles  of  the  time,  either 
placed  before  our  view  by  the  aristocratic  pen  of  Brantome, 
or  registered  hour  by  hour  in  the  journal  of  the  "Grand 
Audiencier  Pierre  de  1'Estoille,  to  form  an  idea  of  the  power 
of  this  privileged  race,  as  much  at  home  in  the  streets  as  on 
the  field  of  battle,  as  eagerly  listened  to  in  the  stalls  of  the 
markets  as  in  the  cabinets  of  the  Louvre,  Windsor,  and  the 
Vatican,  especially  when  it  spoke  through  the  lips  of  Due 
Frangois.  Just  only  look  at  the  cuirass  in  the  Musee  d' Ar- 
tillery, which  the  eldest  of  the  Guises  wore  at  the  siege  of 
Metz,  and  you  will  see  there  the  trace  of  five  balls,  three  of 
which  would  certainly  have  been  mortal  if  they  had  not  been 
deadened  against  the  rampart  of  steel. 

Consequently,  it  was  a  joy  for  the  population  of  Paris 
when  he  issued  forth  from  the  Hotel  de  Guise,  and  when, 
far  better  known  and  more  popular  than  the  king  himself, 
mounted  on  Fleur-de-lis  or  Mouton — they  were  his  two  favor- 
ite steeds — with  his  pourpoint  and  breeches  of  crimson  silk, 


his  velvet  mantle,  his  cap  surmounted  by  a  plume  of  the 
same  color,  and  followed  by  four  hundred  gentlemen,  he 
traversed  the  streets  of  the  capital.  All  flocked  to  see  him 
on  his  passage,  some  breaking  off  branches  and  others 
plucking  flowers  and  casting  branches  and  flowers  under 
his  horse's  feet,  while  crying — 

"Long  live  our  Duke!" 

And  he,  standing  up  on  his  spurs,  as  he  did  on  the  field 
of  battle,  in  order  to  see  further  and  invite  danger  to  him- 
self, or  leaning  down  to  the  right  and  left,  with  a  courteous 
salutation  for  the  women,  the  aged,  and,  indeed,  for  all 
human  beings,  with  a  smile  for  the  young  girls,  and  a  caress 
for  the  children,  he  was  the  true  king,  not  of  the  Louvre, 
Saint- G-ermain,  Fontainebleau,  or  Tournelles,  but  the  king 
of  the  streets  and  market  stalls — a  true  king,  a  real  king, 
since  he  was  king. of  hearts! 

So,  at  the  risk  of  the  truce  of  which  France  had  so  great 
need,  when  Pope  Paul  III. — on  account  of  a  private  quarrel 
with  the  Colonna,  who  were  rendered  bold  enough  to  take 
up  arms  against  the  Holy  See  by  the  support  they  expected 
to  find  in  Philip  II. — when  the  Pope,  we  say,  because  of 
this  quarrel,  declared  that  the  King  of  Spain  had  forfeited 
the  kingdom  of  Naples,  and  offered  this  realm  to  Henri  II. , 
the  king  had  no  hesitation  in  naming  FranQois  de  Cruise 
commander- in- chief  of  the  army  he  sent  into  Italy. 

It  is  true  that  on  this  occasion,  and  perhaps  for  the  first 
time,  Guise  and  Montmorency  happened  to  be  of  one  mind. 
For,  when  FranQois  de  Cruise  was  outside  of  France,  Anne 
de  Montmorency  was  sure  to  be  the  first  person  in  the  realm; 
and,  while  the  great  captain  was  pursuing  beyond  the  moun- 
tains his  plans  of  glory,  Montmorency,  who  believed  him- 
self a  great  statesman,  was  pursuing  his  plans  of  ambition 
at  the  court,  and  his  most  ardent  ambition  was,  for  the  mo- 
ment, to  marry  his  son  to  Madame  Diane,  the  legitimate 
daughter  of  the  Duchesse  de  Yalentinois,  and  widow  of  the 
Duke  de  Castro,  of  the  House  of  Farnese,  killed  at  the  as- 
sault of  Hesdin. 


Frangois  de  Guise  was  then  at  Rome,  making  war  on  the 
Duke  of  Alba. 

With  Due  Frangois  was  the  Cardinal  de  Lorraine,  a  great 
prince  of  the  church,  scarcely  inferior  to  his  brother  in  any- 
thing, and  whom  Pope  Pius  V.  called  the  Pope  beyond  the 
mountains.  ' '  He  was, ' '  says  the  author  of  the  * '  History  of 
Mary  Stuart,"  "a  two-edged  sword  as  a  negotiator,  as  proud 
as  a  Guise  and  as  subtle  as  an  Italian. ' '  Later  on  he  was  to 
conceive,  mature,  and  put  into  execution  that  great  idea  of 
the  League  which  placed  his  nephew  on  the  steps  of  a  throne 
up  to  the  moment  when  both  nephew  and  uncle  fell,  pierced 
by  the  swords  of  the  Forty -five.  When  the  six  Guises  were 
at  court,  the  four,  the  Due  d'Aumale,  the  Grand  Prior,  the 
Marquis  d'Elbeuf,  and  the  Cardinal  de  Guise,  never  -failed 
to  come  first  to  the  levee  of  Cardinal  Charles;  then  all  five 
went  to  that  of  Due  Frangois,  who  conducted  them  to  the 

Both,  for  that  matter — the  one  as  a  warrior,  the  other  as 
a  churchman — had  erected  their  batteries  for  the  future: 
Due  Frangois  had  become  the  master  of  the  king,  and  Car- 
dinal Charles  the  lover  of  the  queen.  The  grave  Estoille 
relates  the  fact  in  a  manner  that  cannot  leave  the  most  in- 
credulous reader  in  doubt:  "One  of  my  friends  told  me  that, 
having  slept  with  the  valet  of  the  cardinal  in  a  chamber 
next  to  that  of  the  queen -mother,  he  saw  the  cardinal, 
dressed  only  in  a  robe  de  chambre,  going  to  see  the  said 
queen,  and  that  his  friend  begged  him  not  to  mention  it  to 
any  one,  or  he  might  lose  his  life. ' ' 

As  to  the  four  princes  of  the  House  of  Guise,  to  attempt 
their  portrait  would  lead  us  too  far,  and,  besides,  the  part 
they  play  in  our  story  is  almost  null.  Let  us  confine  our- 
selves, therefore,  to  those  we  have  sketched  of  Due  Fran- 
gois and  Cardinal  Charles. 

It  was  Cardinal  Charles  whom  we  have  beheld  one 
night,  dressed  only  in  a  robe  de  chambre,  going  to  see  the 
said  queen,  that  was  waiting  for  Catherine  de  Me'dicis  in 
her  cabinet. 


Catherine  knew  she  should  find  him  there,  but  she  ex- 
pected to  find  him  alone. 

He  was,  however,  accompanied  by  a  young  man  of  from 
twenty- five  to  twenty -six  years,  elegantly  clad,  although 
still  wearing  his  travelling-dress. 

"Ah!  it  is  you,  M.  de  Nemours!"  exclaimed  Catherine, 
as  soon  as  she  perceived  him.  "You  arrive  from  Italy? 
What  news  from  Eome  ?" 

"Bad!"  replied  the  cardinal,  while  the  Due  de  Nemours 
saluted  the  queen. 

"Bad!  Could  our  dear  cousin  the  Due  de  Guise  have 
been  beaten?"  asked  Catherine.  "Take  care!  Though 
you  answered  yes,  I  would  say  no,  to  such  a  degree  do  I 
hold  the  thing  impossible!" 

"No,  madame,"  replied  Nemours,  "M.  de  Guise  has  not 
been  beaten ;  as  you  say,  the  thing  is  impossible !  But  he 
has  been  betrayed  by  the  Caraffa,  abandoned  by  the  Pope 
himself;  and  he  has  despatched  me  to  the  king  to  tell  him 
that  the  position  was  no  longer  tenable  either  for  his  own 
glory  or  for  that  of  France,  and  that  he  demanded  reinforce- 
ments or  a  recall. ' ' 

"And,  according  to  our  arrangements,  madame,"  said 
the  cardinal,  ' '  I  have  led  M.  de  Nemours  to  you  first. ' ' 

"But,"  said  Catherine,  "the  recall  of  M.  de  Guise  is  the 
abandonment  of  the  King  of  France's  claim  to  the  kingdom 
of  Naples,  and  of  mine  to  the  duchy  of  Tuscany. ' ' 

"Yes,"  said  the  cardinal;  "but  you  may  be  quite  sure, 
madame,  that  we  shall  soon  have  war  in  France,  and  that 
then  we  shall  not  so  much  think  of  conquering  Naples  and 
Florence  as  of  protecting  Paris. ' ' 

"What,  Paris?  You  are  laughing,  M.  le  Cardinal.  It 
seems  to  me  that  France  can  defend  France,  and  Paris  can 
protect  herself  without  any  help. ' ' 

"I  am  afraid  you  are  mistaken,  madame,"  replied  the 
cardinal.  "The  best  of  our  troops,  counting  on  the  truce, 
have  passed  into  Italy  with  my  brother;  and,  certainly,  ex- 
cept for  the  ambiguous  conduct  of  Cardinal  Caraffa  and  the 


treason  of  the  Duke  of  Parma,  who  has  forgotten  what  he 
owed  to  the  King  of  France,  and  deserted  to  the  Emperor, 
our  prospects  of  success  in  Naples,  and  the  necessity  under 
which  Philip  II.  would  have  labored  of  stripping  himself  to 
protect  Naples,  would  have  safeguarded  us  from  an  attack; 
but  now  that  Philip  II.  is  sure  he  has  men  enough  in  Italy 
to  hold  us  in  check,  he  will  turn  his  eyes  in  the  direction  of 
France,  and  not  fail  to  profit  by  its  weakness.  Need  I  add 
that  the  nephew  of  M.  le  Connetable  has  been  guilty  of  a 
piece  of  folly  which  will  give  to  the  rupture  of  the  truce  by 
Philip  II.  an  appearance  of  justice?" 

"You  mean  his  attack  on  Douai?" 


"Listen,"  said  Catherine.  "You  know  I  like  the  ad- 
miral as  little  as  you  do  yourself;  so  you  may  do  him  as 
much  harm  as  you  can  without  my  placing  any  obstacle  in 
your  way ;  on  the  contrary,  I  will  help  you  all  I  can. ' ' 

"Meanwhile,  what  do  you  decide  on  doing?"  said  the 
cardinal.  And  seeing  that  she  hesitated,  "Oh!"  he  said, 
"you  can  speak  before  M.  de  Nemours;  he  is  of  Savoy,  it  is 
true,  but  as  much  our  friend  as  his  cousin  Emmanuel  Phili- 
bert  is  our  enemy. ' ' 

"Decide  yourself,  my  dear  cardinal,"  casting  an  oblique 
glance  at  him;  "I  am  but  a  woman  whose  weak  mind  has 
little  skill  in  affairs  of  state.  Decide,  then. ' ' 

The  cardinal  had  understood  the  look  of  Catherine:  for 
her  there  were  no  friends ;  there  were  only  accomplices. 

"No  matter,  madame, "  said  Charles;  "be  good  enough 
to  give  an  opinion,  and  I  shall  take  the  liberty  of  combating 
it,  should  it"  happen  to  be  in  contradiction  with  mine." 

"Well,  I  think,"  said  Catherine,  "that  the  king,  being 
the  head  of  the  state,  ought  to  be  informed  of  these  impor- 
tant things  before  all  others.  In  my  opinion,  then,  if  M.  de 
Nemours  is  not  too  tired,  he  ought  to  take  a  horse,  join  the 
king  wherever  he  is,  and  transmit  to  him  the  intelligence 
which  your  kindness,  my  dear  cardinal,  has  made  me  mis- 
tress of  before  him  who  should  be  first  to  hear  it. ' ' 


The  cardinal  turned  to  the  Duke  de  Nemours,  as  if  to 
question  him. 

"I  am  never  fatigued,  monseigneur, "  he  said,  "when  the 
service  of  the  king  is  in  question. " 

"In  that  case,"  said  the  cardinal,  "I  shall  order  a  horse 
for  you,  and  also  warn  the  secretaries  that  the  king  will 
hold  a  council  on  his  return  from  the  chase;  come,  M.  de 
Nemours. ' ' 

The  young  duke  respectfully  saluted  the  queen,  and 
made  ready  to  follow  the  Cardinal  de  Lorraine,  when  Cath- 
erine lightly  touched  the  arm  of  the  latter. 

1 '  Pass  before  me,  M.  de  Nemours, ' '  said  Charles  de  Cruise. 

"Monseigneur — "  returned  Jacques  de  Nemours,  hesitat- 
ing, "I  beg  of  you  to  do  so." 

' '  And  I  order  you,  M.  le  Due, ' '  said  Catherine,  offering 
him  her  hand. 

The  duke,  understanding  that  the  queen  doubtless  had  a 
last  word  to  say  to  the  cardinal,  no  longer  made  a  difficulty 
of  obeying;  and,  kissing  her  hand,  he  went  out  first,  de- 
signedly letting  the  hangings  fall  back  behind  him. 

"What  did  you  want  to  say  to  me,  my  dear  queen  ?" 

"I  wanted  to  say  to  you,"  replied  Catherine,  "that  the 
good  King  Louis  XL,  who,  in  exchange  for  five  hundred 
thousand  loaned  him,  gave  to  our  ancestor  Lorenzo  de  Me'di- 
cis  leave  to  place  three  fleurs-de-lis  in  our  arms,  was  in  the 
habit  of  repeating :  '  If  my  nightcap  knew  my  secret,  I  would 
burn  it!'  Meditate  on  this  maxim  of  the  good  King  Louis, 
my  dear  cardinal.  You  are  too  confiding!" 

The  cardinal  smiled  at  the  warning  given  him ;  he,  who 
passed  for  the  most  distrustful  statesman  of  the  time,  had 
met  with  a  distrust  greater  than  his  own. 

It  is  true  he  met  it  in  the  Florentine,  Catherine  de 

The  cardinal,  in  turn,  broke  through  the  rampart  of  the 
tapestry  hangings,  and  saw  the  prudent  young  man,  in  order 
not  to  be  accused  of  curiosity,  waiting  for  him  ten  paces 
further  on  in  the  corridor. 


Both  descended  into  the  courtyard,  where  Charles  de 
Guise  ordered  a  page  of  the  stables  to  bring  him  a  horse, 
ready  saddled,  at  once. 

The  page  returned  in  five  minutes,  leading  the  horse. 
Nemours  leaped  into  the  saddle  with  the  elegance  of  a 
consummate  cavalier,  and  rode  at  a  gallop  through  the 
main  alley  of  the  park. 

The  young  man  had  been  careful  to  ask  information  as 
to  the  direction  taken  by  the  chase,  and  was  told  the  animal 
would  be  attacked  near  the  road  to  Passy. 

He,  therefore,  rode  toward  that  point  in  the  expectation 
that  the  sound  of  the  horn  would  guide  him  to  the  spot 
where  the  king  happened  to  be.  But  when  near  the  road 
to  Passy,  he  saw  and  heard  nothing. 

He  questioned  a  woodcutter,  who  told  him  that  the  hunt 
was  now  somewhere  in  the  direction  of  Conflans.  He  imme- 
diately turned  his  horse  toward  the  point  indicated. 

At  the  end  of  an  hour,  while  crossing  a  transverse  path, 
he  perceived,  in  the  middle  of  a  neighboring  crossroad,  a 
rider  who  was  standing  up  in  the  stirrups,  in  order  to  see 
further,  and  was  holding  his  hand  to  his  ear  in  order  to  hear 

This  rider  was  a  hunter,  evidently  trying  to  find  his  way. 

However  astray  this  hunter  might  be,  he  was  more  likely  to 
have  an  idea  of  the  probable  situation  of  the  king  than  the 
young  duke,  who  had  arrived  from  Italy  hardly  half  an  hour 
before.  So  M.  de  Nemours  rode  straight  up  to  the  hunter. 

The  latter,  seeing  a  horseman  approaching,  and  thinking 
he  might  learn  something  from  him  about  the  progress  of 
the  chase,  also  advanced  some  steps. 

But  soon  both,  with  a  similar  movement,  set  spurs  to 
their  horses;  they  had  recognized  each  other. 

The  strayed  hunter,  who  tried  to  find  his  way  by  stand- 
ing up  in  his  stirrups  in  order  to  see,  and  holding  his  hand  to 
his  ear  in  order  to  hear,  was  the  captain  of  the  Scotch  Guard. 

The  two  cavaliers  approached  with  that  courteous  famili- 
arity which  distinguished  the  young  lords  of  the  period. 




Moreover,  although,  it  is  true,  the  Due  cle  Nemours  was 
of  a  princely  house,  the  Comte  de  Montgomery  belonged 
to  the  oldest  Norman  nobility,  a  descendant  of  that  Roger 
de  Montgomery  who  helped  William  the  Bastard  to  con- 
quer England. 

Now,  at  this  period,  there  existed  in  France  some  old 
names  that  believed  themselves  the  equals  of  the  most  puis- 
sant and  glorious  names,  in  spite  of  the  inferiority  of  the 
titles  they  bore.  It  was  so  with  the  Montmorencys,  whose 
title  was  only  that  of  baron;  with  the  Rohans,  who  were 
only  seigneurs;  with  the  Coucys,  who  were  only  sires;  and 
with  the  Montgomerys,  who  were  only  counts. 

As  Nemours  had  guessed,  Montgomery  had  lost  track 
of  the  hunt,  and  was  trying  to  find  his  way. 

For  that  matter,  the  place  where  they  found  themselves 
was  well  chosen  for  the  purpose,  since  it  was  a  crossroad 
situated  on  an  elevation  toward  which  every  sound  must 
ascend,  and  commanding  five  or  six  paths,  by  one  of  which 
the  animal  would  not  fail  to  pass,  when  driven  by  the 

The  two  young  noblemen,  who  had  not  seen  each  other 
for  more  than  six  months,  had,  besides,  a  thousand  impor- 
tant questions  to  ask:  Montgomery  on  the  subject  of  the 
army  and  the  deeds  of  high  emprise  which  M.  de  Cruise 
must  have  naturally  essayed;  the  other  on  the  subject  of 
the  French  court,  and  the  fine  love -ad  ventures  that  must 
have  taken  place  there. 

They  were  at  the  liveliest  part  of  this  interesting  conver- 
sation when  Comte  Montgomery  laid  his  hand  on  the  arm 
of  the  duke.  He  fancied  he  heard  the  baying  of  the  pack 
in  the  distance. 

Both  listened.  De  Lorges  was  not  deceived:  at  the  ex- 
tremity of  an  immense  alley  they  saw  an  enormous  boar  pass 
as  swiftly  as  an  arrow;  then,  some  fifty  paces  behind  him, 
the  most  eager  of  the  hounds,  then  the  bulk  of  the  pack, 
then  the  stragglers. 

At  the  same  moment  Montgomery  put  his  horn  to  his  lips 

(10)— Vol.  20 


and  sounded  the  sighting  of  the  game,  in  order  to  rally  such 
as,  like  himself,  had  gone  astray ;  and  the  number  must  have 
been  great,  f or  three  persons  only  were  on  the  track  of  the 
animal — a  man  and  two  women. 

From  the  ardor  with  which  he  urged  his  steed,  the  two 
believed  it  was  the  king;  but  the  distance  was  so  great  that 
it  was  impossible  to  tell  who  were  the  bold  Amazons  follow- 
ing him  so  closely.  All  the  rest  of  the  hunt  seemed  com- 
pletely out  of  its  reckoning. 

Nemours  and  Montgomery  galloped  to  an  alley  which, 
in  view  of  the  direction  taken  by  the  animal,  allowed  them 
to  cut  the  chase  at  a  right  angle. 

The  king  had,  in  fact,  attacked  the  beast,  which,  in  terms 
of  venery,  was  what  was  called  a  ragot.  It  had  made  for  one 
direction  with  the  obstinacy  of  the  older  animals,  and  was 
dashing  straight  along  on  the  road  to  Conflans.  The  king 
was  at  once  on  its  track,  and  at  the  sound  of  his  horn  all 
the  court  followed  the  king. 

But  boars  are  bad  courtiers:  the  one  with  whom,  for 
the  moment,  they  had  to  do,  instead  of  choosing  the  way 
through  the  great  old  forest-trees  and  along  the  easy  paths, 
had  dashed  into  the  thickest  copses  and  closest  briars; 
hence  it  resulted  that,  at  the  end  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour, 
only  the  most  enthusiastic  hunters  were  near  the  king,  and 
that  of  all  the  ladies  only  three  held  out.  These  were  Ma- 
dame Marguerite,  the  king's  sister,  Diane  de  Poitiers,  and 
Mary  Stuart,  the  little  reinette,  as  Catherine  de  Medicis 
called  her. 

In  spite  of  the  courage  of  the  illustrious  hunters  and 
huntresses  we  have  named,  the  difficulties  of  the  ground, 
the  thickness  of  the  wood,  which  obliged  the  riders  to 
make  detours,  and  the  height  of  the  clumps  of  briars, 
which  it  was  impossible  to  clear,  soon  caused  them  to 
lose  sight  of  boar  and  hounds;  but,  at  the  extremity  of 
the  forest,  the  animal  met  a  wall,  and  was  forced  to  return 
on  his  traces. 

The    king,    distanced   for   an   instant,    but   sure   of   his 


hounds,  then  halted.  This  gave  a  few  hunters  time  to 
join  him;  the  baying  was  soon  heard  again. 

The  portion  of  the  forest  for  which  the  animal  was  now 
making  a  set  was  more  open  than  the  other;  as  a  conse- 
quence, the  king  could  resume  the  chase  with  a  chance 
of  soon  having  the  boar  at  bay. 

Only,  the  same  thing  happened  that  happened  ten  min- 
utes before:  each  held  out  according  as  his  strength  and 
courage  allowed  him.  Moreover,  in  the  midst  of  this  court, 
entirely  composed  of  fair  lords  and  gallant  dames,  many, 
perhaps,  stayed  behind,  without  being  absolutely  forced 
thereto  by  the  slowness  of  their  horses,  by  the  thickness 
of  the  wood,  or  the  inequalities  of  the  ground;  and  this 
was  clearly  proved  by  the  attitude  of  the  groups  stopping 
at  the  corners  of  the  alleys  and  in  the  middle  of  the  cross- 
roads, which  seemed  more  attentive  to  the  conversation  that 
was  going  on  than  to  the  baying  of  the  hounds  or  the  h.orns 
of  the  whippers-in. 

And  so  it  happened,  when  the  animal  came  in  view  of 
Montgomery  and  Nemours,  it  was  followed  by  only  a  single 
horseman,  in  whom  they  recognized  the  king,  with  two 
ladies  whom  they  did  not  know. 

It  was,  in  fact,  the  king,  who,  with  his  usual  ardor, 
wanted  to  be  the  first  at  the  death,  to  be  present  at  the 
moment  when  the  boar  would  make  a  stand  backed  against 
some  tree  or  rock,  and  would  face  the  hounds. 

The  two  Amazons  following  the  horseman  were  Madame 
de  Yalentinois  and  little  Queen  Mary — the  one  the  best,  the 
other  the  boldest,  rider  in  the  entire  court. 

The  boar,  for  that  matter,  was  growing  tired;  clearly, 
he  would  have  to  come  to  a  stand  before  long;  the  fiercest 
of  the  dogs  were  already  breathing  close  to  his  hide. 

For  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  however,  he  tried  to  escape  his 
enemies  by  flight;  but,  feeling  them  nearer  and  nearer,  he 
resolved  to  die  bravely,  like  the  courageous  animal  he  was, 
and,  finding  a  stump  of  a  tree  convenient,  he  planted  him- 
self there,  growling  and  striking  his  immense  jaws  together. 


No  sooner  had  lie  stopped  than  the  pack  was  on  him, 
and  indicated,  by  its  redoubled  baying,  that  the  animal 
was  making  a  stand. 

With  the  baying,  the  sound  of  the  horn  was  soon  min- 
gled. Henri  arrived,  following  the  dogs  as  closely  as  they 
followed  the  boar. 

He  looked  around  him  while  winding  his  horn  in  search 
of  his  arquebusier;  but  he  had  distanced  even  the  most  ac- 
tive whippers-in,  even  those  whose  duty  it  was  never  to  lose 
sight  of  him,  and  saw,  galloping  up  with  all  the  speed  of 
their  horses,  only  Diane  and  Mary  Stuart,  who,  as  we  have 
said,  held  out. 

Not  a  ringlet  of  the  fair  duchess's  head  was  out  of  place, 
and  her  velvet  cap  was  fixed  as  firmly  on  the  top  as  at  the 
moment  of  setting  out. 

As  for  little  Mary,  she  had  lost  veil  and  cap;  and  her 
beautiful  chestnut  hair,  scattered  to  the  breeze,  as  well  as 
the  charming  flush  on  her  cheeks,  bore  witness  to  the  ardor 
of  the  chase. 

At  the  prolonged  notes  the  king  drew  from  his  horn,  the 
arquebusier  appeared,  one  arquebuse  in  his  hand,  and  the 
other  hanging  from  the  bow  of  his  saddle. 

Behind  him  might  be  seen,  through  the  thickness  of  the 
wood,  golden  broideries  and  the  dazzling  colors  of  robes, 
doublets  and  mantles.  It  was  the  hunters  and  huntresses 
now  approaching  from  all  sides. 

The  animal  was  doing  his  best;  attacked  at  the  same 
time  by  sixty  dogs,  he  made  head  against  all  his  enemies. 
It  is  true  that  while  the  sharpest  teeth  were  blunted  on 
his  wrinkled  hide,  every  stroke  of  his  tusks  made  a  deadly 
wound  in  such  of  his  adversaries  as  came  within  its  reach; 
but,  although  mortally  injured,  although  losing  all  their 
blood,  and  with  their  entrails  dragging  along  the  ground, 
the  king's  grays,  as  they  were  called,  were  such  a  noble 
breed  that  they  only  returned  the  more  furiously  to  the 
combat,  and  it  could  only  be  known  that  they  were  wounded 
by  the  stains  of  blood  that  streaked  this  moving  carpet. 


The  king  saw  it  was  time  to  put  an  end  to  the  butchery, 
if  he  were  not  to  lose  his  best  dogs.  He  threw  away  his 
horn,  and  made  a  sign  for  his  arquebuse. 

The  match  had  been  lighted ;  the  arquebusier  had  but  to 
present  the  weapon  to  the  king.  Henri  was  a  good  marks- 
man, and  rarely  missed  his  aim. 

With  the  arquebuse  in  his  hand,  he  advanced  to  within 
about  twenty  paces  of  the  boar,  whose  eyes  shone  like  two 
live  coals.  He  aimed  between  the  eyes  and  fired. 

The  animal  received  the  discharge  in  his  head ;  but  by 
a  movement  he  made  when  the  king  had  his  hand  on  the 
trigger,  the  animal  slightly  inclined  his  head,  and  the  ball 
glanced  off  the  bone,  killing  one  of  the  dogs. 

The  track  of  the  ball  could  be  seen  between  the  eye 
and  the  ear  of  the  boar  by  the  blood  that  indicated  its 

Henri  remained  astonished  for  an  instant  at  the  circum- 
stance that  the  boar  had  not  at  once  fallen,  while  his  horse, 
all  quivering,  his  hind  legs  bending  under  him,  was  beating 
the  ground  in  front  of  him. 

He  handed  the  arquebuse  to  the  groom,  and  demanded 
another.  The  other  was  ready,  with  the  match  lighted;  the 
groom  presented  it. 

The  king  took  it,  and  raised  the  butt  to  his  shoulder. 
But,  before  he  had  time  to  aim,  the  boar,  doubtless  unwill- 
ing to  risk  the  chance  of  a  second  shot,  scattered  the  dogs 
surrounding  him  by  a  violent  thrust,  opened  a  bloody  path- 
way through  the  middle  of  the  pack,  and,  quick  as  light- 
ning, passed  between  the  legs  of  the  king's  horse,  which 
reared,  giving  an  agonizing  neigh,  showed  his  belly,  from 
which  the  blood  and  entrails  were  dropping,  and  suddenly 
fell  down,  with  the  king  under  him. 

All  this  had  been  so  instantaneous  that  not  one  of  the 
spectators  thought  of  rushing  in  front  of  the  boar,  which 
now  turned  on  the  king  before  he  even  had  time  to  draw  his 
hunting- knife. 

Henri  tried  to  reach  it ;  it  was  impossible.    The  hunting- 


knife  was  under  the  king's  left  side,  and  so  placed  that  it 
was  useless  to  think  of  extricating  it. 

Brave  as  the  king  was,  his  mouth  was  already  opened 
to  cry  for  help — for  the  hideous  head  of  the  boar,  its  eyes  of 
flame,  its  bloody  jowl  and  teeth  of  steel  were  within  a  few 
inches  of  him — when  suddenly  he  heard  a  voice  in  his  ear, 
whose  firm  accents  there  was  no  mistaking,  saying  to  him — 

"Do  not  stir,  sire;  I  answer  for  everything!" 

Then  he  felt  an  arm,  which  raised  his,  and  saw,  like  a 
flash  of  lightning,  a  broad,  keen  blade  pass  under  his  shoul- 
der, and  plunge  up  to  the  hilt  in  the  body  of  the  boar. 

At  the  same  moment  two  vigorous  arms  drew  him  back, 
leaving,  exposed  to  the  animal,  only  the  new  adversary  who 
had  stricken  it  to  the  heart. 

He  who  pulled  the  king  back  was  the  Due  de  Nemours. 
He  who,  with  his  knee  on  the  ground  and  his  arm  extended, 
had  just  stricken  the  boar  to  the  heart  was  the  Comte  de 

Montgomery  drew  his  sword  from  the  body  of  the  ani- 
mal, wiped  it  on  the  green,  grassy  turf,  returned  it  to  the 
scabbard,  and,  approaching  Henri  II.  as  if  nothing  extraor- 
dinary had  occurred — 

1 ' Sire, ' '  said  he,  "I  have  the  honor  to  present  to  you  M. 
le  Due  de  Nemours,  who  has  just  come  from  beyond  the 
mountains,  and  brings  news  of  M.  le  Due  de  Cruise  and  his 
brave  army  of  Italy. ' ' 



TWO  hours  after  the  scene  we  have  described,  the  spec- 
tators having  appeased  their  private  or  official  emo- 
tion, congratulations  having  been  tendered  to  Gabriel 
de  Lorges,  Comte  de  Montgomery,  and  to  Jacques  of  Savoy, 
Due  de  Nemours,  the  two  saviors  of  the  king,  on  the  cour- 


age  and  address  displayed  by  them  on  the  occasion,  and  the 
quarry — a  matter  whose  importance  even  the  gravest  affairs 
did  not  permit  to  be  neglected — having  been  disposed  of  in 
the  great  court  of  the  chateau,  in  the  presence  of  the  king, 
queen,  and  all  the  lords  and  ladies  staying  at  Saint- Ger- 
main,  Henri  II.,  with  a  smiling  countenance,  as  was  natural 
in  the  case  of  one  just  escaped  from  imminent  death,  and 
who  feels  the  fuller  of  life  and  health  on  account  of  the  very 
greatness  of  the  peril — Henri  II. ,  we  say,  entered  his  cabi- 
net, where,  besides  his  ordinary  councillors,  the  Cardinal  de 
.  Lorraine  and  the  Connetable  de  Montmorency  were  awaiting 

We  have  already  mentioned  the  Connetable  Montmo- 
rency ;  but  we  have  neglected  to  do  for  him  what  we  have 
done  for  the  other  heroes  of  our  tale — that  is  to  say,  to  ex- 
hume him  from  the  tomb  and  make  him  stand  up  before  our 
readers,  like  that  great  Connetable  de  Bourbon  who  was 
carried  by  his  soldiers,  after  his  death,  to  a  painter,  in  order 
that  a  portrait  of  him  might  be  painted  standing  all  armed, 
as  if  he  had  been  alive. 

Anne  de  Montmorency  was,  then,  the  head  of  that  old 
family  of  Christian  barons  of  France,  as  they  were  entitled, 
sprung  from  Bouchard  de  Montmorency,  and  which  has 
given  ten  constables  to  the  realm. 

He  was  called,  and  so  styled  himself,  Anne  de  Montmo- 
rency— Duke,  Peer,  Marshal,  Grand-Master,  Constable,  and 
First  Baron  of  France;  Knight  of  Saint- Michael  and  of  the 
Garter;  Captain  of  the  king's  hundred  orderlies;  Governor 
and  Lieutenant- General  of  Languedoc;  Comte  de  Beaumont, 
Dammartin,  La  Fere-en-Tardenois,  and  Chateaubriant ;  Yi- 
comte  de  Melun  and  Montreuil;  Baron  d'Amville,  Preaux, 
Montbron,  Offemont,  Mello,  Chateauneuf,  Rochepot,  Dangu, 
Meru,  Thore,  Savoisy,  Gourville,  Derval,  Chanceaux, 
Rouge,  Aspremont,  and  Maintenay;  Seigneur  d'Ecouen, 
Chantilly,  L' Isle- Adam,  Conflans-Sainte-Honorine,  Nogent, 
Yalmondois,  Compiegne,  Gandelu,  Marigny,  and  Thourout. 

As  may  be  seen  from  this  nomenclature  of  titles,  the 


king  might  be  king  in  Paris,  but  Montmorency  was  duke, 
count,  and  baron  all  around  Paris;  so  that  royalty  itself 
seemed  imprisoned  in  his  duchies,  counties,  and  baronies. 

Born  in  1493,  he  was,  at  the  period  we  have  reached,  an 
old  man  of  sixty-four  who,  though  looking  his  age,  had  the 
strength  and  vigor  of  a  man  of  thirty.  Violent  and  brutal, 
he  had  all  the  rough  qualities  of  the  soldier — blind  courage, 
ignorance  of  danger,  insensibility  to  fatigue,  hunger,  and 
thirst.  Full  of  pride,  swollen  with  vanity,  he  yielded  to 
none  but  the  Due  de  Guise,  and  to  him  only  as  a  prince  of 
Lorraine,  for  as  a  general  he  believed  himself  the  superior 
of  the  defender  of  Metz  and  the  conqueror  of  Eenty. 

In  his  eyes  Henri  II.  was  the  little  master ;  the  great  mas- 
ter had  been  Frangois  I.,  and  he  declined  to  recognize  any 
other.  An  eccentric  courtier  and  a  man  of  tenacious  ambi- 
tion, he  gained  advantages  tending  to  increase  his  wealth 
and  power  by  his  brutality  and  insolence,  which  another 
could  only  have  obtained  by  suppleness  and  adulation. 
Moreover,  Diane  de  Yalentinois  aided  him  very  much  in  his 
schemes ;  seconding  the  violent  old  trooper  with  her  gentle 
voice  and  look  and  countenance,  she  smoothed  down  all  the 
antipathies  his  vehemence  created,  and  without  her  help  he 
would  not  have  succeeded.  He  had  been  already  in  four 
great  battles,  and  in  each  had  done  the  work  of  a  vigor- 
ous man-at-arms,  but  in  none  that  of  an  intelligent  leader. 
These  four  battles  were,  first,  that  of  Kavenna;  he  was  then 
sixteen  years  old,  and  followed,  as  an  amateur  and  for  his 
own  pleasure,  the  general  standard  in  the  capacity  of  volun- 
teer. The  second  was  that  of  Marignano.  There  he  com- 
manded a  company  of  a  hundred  men-at-arms,  and  he  would 
have  been  able  to  boast  that  the  most  vigorous  strokes  were 
given  by  his  sword  and  mace,  had  he  not  had  near  him,  and 
often  in  front  of  him,  his  great  master  Frangois  I. — that  hun- 
dred-handed giant,  as  he  might  be  called  in  a  certain  sense, 
who  would  have  conquered  the  world,  if  the  world  was  to 
be  conquered  by  him  who  struck  the  strongest  and  dough- 
tiest blows.  The  third  was  that  of  La  Bicoque,  where  he 


was  colonel  of  the  Swiss,  and  where  he  handled  the  pike  and 
was  left  for  dead.  In  fine,  the  fourth  was  that  of  Pavia. 
He  had  then  become  Marshal  of  France  by  the  death  of  M. 
de  Chatillon,  his  brother-in-law.  Not  suspecting  that  the 
battle  was  to  take  place  the  next  day,  he  set  out  during  the 
night  to  make  a  reconnoissance ;  hearing  the  roar  of  the  can- 
non, he  returned,  and  was  taken  "with  the  rest,"  says  Bran- 
tome.  And,  in  fact,  at  that  disastrous  defeat  of  Pavia,  every 
one  was  taken,  even  the  king. 

Unlike  M.  de  Guise,  who  had  the  strongest  sympathies 
of  the  bourgeoisie  and  the  men  of  the  robe,  he  detested  the 
bourgeois  and  execrated  the  lawyers.  He  let  no  occasion 
slip  of  giving  a  piece  of  his  mind  to  both  of  them.  It  hap- 
pened that  the  president  of  a  court  came  to  speak  to  him 
one  very  hot  day  on  the  subject  of  his  office.  M.  de  Mont- 
morency  received  him  with  his  cap  in  his  hand,  and  said — 

"Come,  M.  le  President,  say  what  you  have  to  say  at 
once,  and  in  the  meantime  cover  yourself." 

But  the  president,  believing  it  was  to  do  him  honor  that 
Montmorency  remained  uncovered,  replied — 

' '  Monsieur,  I  cannot  think  of  covering  myself  until  you 
do  the  same. ' ' 

"Why,  you  must  be  a  consummate  fool,  monsieur!"  said 
the  constable.  "Do  you  really  fancy  I  have  taken  off  my 
cap  through  love  of  you?  No;  it  has  been  for  my  own 
ease,  my  friend,  seeing  that  I  am  dying  of  the  heat.  Go  on; 
I  am  listening. ' ' 

At  which  the  president,  all  confused,  could  do  nothing 
but  stammer.  Thereupon  said  Montmorency  to  him — 

' '  You  are  an  idiot,  M.  le  President !  Go  home  and  learn 
your  lesson ;  then  return,  but  not  before. ' ' 

And  he  turned  on  his  heel. 

The  people  of  Bordeaux  having  revolted  and  killed  their 
governor,  the  constable  was  sent  against  them.  They, 
knowing  he  was  coming  and  that  the  reprisals  would  be 
terrible,  went  a  two  days'  journey  to  meet  him,  carrying 
the  keys  of  the  city. 


But  he  addressed  them,  fully  armed  and  on  horseback : 
"Begone,  Messieurs  of  Bordeaux,"  he  said — "begone,  you 
ami  your  keys!  I  have  no  need  of  them."  And,  pointing 
to  the  cannons,  "There  are  my  keys;  they  will  open  your 
city  in  a  different  fashion  from  the  way  you  open  it.  Ah, 
I'll  teach  you  to  rebel  against  the  king  and  kill  his  governor 
and  lieutenant!  You  may  stake  your  faith,  I'll  have  every 
one  of  you  hanged!" 

And  he  kept  his  word. 

At  Bordeaux,  M.  de  Strozzi,  who  had  manoeuvred  his 
troops  the  evening  before  in  his  presence,  came  to  pay  his 
respects  to  him,  although  a  relation  of  the  queen.  As  soon 
as  Montmorency  saw  him,  he  exclaimed: 

"Ha!  good- day,  Strozzi!  your  fellows  did  wonders  yes- 
terday, and  they  made  a  really  fine  sight;  they  shall  have 
their  money,  therefore,  to-day.  I  have  ordered  it. ' ' 

"Thanks,  M.  le  Connetable,"  replied  Strozzi;  "I  cannot 
tell  you  how  delighted  I  am  to  find  you  are  satisfied  with 
them,  for  I  have  a  petition  to  make  to  you  on  their  part. ' ' 

' '  What  is  it,  Strozzi  ?     Say  on ! " 

"They  say  that  wood  is  awfully  dear  in  this  city,  and 
the  sums  they  are  paying  for  it  during  the  present  severe 
cold  are  actually  ruining  them;  they  beg  you  to  give  them 
a  ship,  called  the  'Montreal,'  which  is  beached  on  the 
strand  and  of  no  further  use,  so  that  they  may  break 
it  up  and  warm  themselves." 

"Why,  of  course  I  will!"  said  the  constable;  "let  them 
set  about  the  thing  at  once,  break  it  up  and  warm  them- 
selves as  well  as  they  can,  for  it  is  my  pleasure. ' ' 

But  while  he  was  at  dinner,  the  aldermen  and  councillors 
of  the  city  came  to  him.  Whether  Strozzi  had  seen  badly, 
or  had  been  deceived  by  the  report  of  the  soldiers,  or  had 
but  little  acquaintance  with  ships  old  or  new,  the  one  whose 
demolition  he  asked  for  was  still  capable  of  making  many  a 
prosperous  voyage.  These  worthy  magistrates  came,  there- 
fore, to  represent  to  Montmorency  what  a  pity  it  would  be 
to  cut  up  so  fine  a  vessel,  which  had  so  far  only  made  two 


or  three  voyages,  and  was  registered  at  three  hundred 

But  the  constable  interrupted  them  in  his  customary  tone 
before  they  were  half-way: 

"Good!  good!  And  pray  who  are  you,  you  idiots,  to 
venture  to  prescribe  to  me  ?  You  must  think  yourselves 
no  small  people  when  you  dare  to  thus  utter  a  remonstrance 
in  my  presence.  If  I  acted  rightly — and  I  don't  know  what 
is  keeping  me  from  doing  it — I  should  send  and  have  your 
houses  pulled  to  pieces  instead  of  the  ship;  and  if  you  are 
not  out  of  this  in  a  jiffy,  it's  just  what  I  shall  do.  Go  home 
and  mind  your  own  business;  don't  meddle  with  mine!" 

And  the  same  day  the  ship  was  broken  up. 

During  the  intervals  of  peace,  the  great  anger  of  Mont- 
morency  was  exercised  on  the  ministers  of  the  Eeformed 
religion,  for  whom  his  hatred  was  ferocious.  One  of  his 
relaxations  was  to  go  into  the  temples  of  Paris  and  hunt 
them  from  their  pulpits;  and,  having  one  day  discovered 
that  they  were  holding  a  consistory  with  permission  of  the 
king,  he  made  his  way  to  Popincourt,  entered  the  assembly, 
overturned  the  pulpit,  broke  all  the  benches  and  made  a 
great  bonfire  of  them ;  this  expedition  won  him  the  surname 
of  Captain  Brule- Banes. 

And  all  these  brutalities  were  accomplished  by  the  con- 
stable while  mumbling  his  prayers,  and  especially  the  Lord's 
Prayer,  which  was  his  favorite,  and  which  he  combined  in 
the  most  grotesque  fashion  with  the  barbarous  orders  he 
gave  and  never  revoked. 

Misfortune  was  abroad  when  he  began  in  some  such  way 
as  this: 

"Our  Father  who  art  in  heaven  (Go  and  hang  that  fellow 
at  once  /),  hallowed  be  Thy  name  (String  yon  other  fellow  up 
to  that  tree!).  Thy  kingdom  come  (Let  that  rascal  run  the 
gantlet  of  the  pikes!).  Thy  will  be  done  on  earth  (Have 
those  scoundrels  shot  immediately!),  as  it  is  in  heaven.  (Cut 
in  pieces  all  those  knaves  who  dared  to  hold  the  tower  against 
me  /)  Give  us  this  day  our  daily  bread  (Burn  me  yonder 


village),  and  forgive  us  our  trespasses,  as  we  forgive  those 
who  have  trespassed  against  us!  (Set  fire  to  the  four  corners, 
and  let  not  one  house  escape  /)  And  lead  us  not  into  tempta- 
tion (If  the  clowns  cry  out  against  it,  fling  them  into  the  fire 
also!),  but  deliver  us  from  evil.  Amen!" 

This  was  called  the  Pater-Nosters  of  the  constable.  Such 
was  the  man  Henri  II.  found,  on  entering  his  cabinet,  seated 
in  front  of  the  keen,  crafty,  aristocratic  Cardinal  de  Lor- 
raine, the  most  courteous  of  high-born  churchmen  and  the 
shrewdest  statesman  of  his  time. 

It  is  easy  to  understand  that  these  two  natures,  so  ab- 
solutely contrary  to  each  other,  must  constantly  come  in 
collision,  and  must  give  great  trouble  to  the  state  by  their 
ambitious  rivalries. 

And  the  more  so  that  Montmorency 's  family  was  almost 
as  numerous  as  that  of  Guise,  the  constable  having  had  by 
his  wife,  Madame  de  Savoie,  daughter  of  Messire  Rene, 
bastard  of  Savoy  and  Grand- Master  of  France,  five  sons — 
MM.  de  Montmorency,  d'Amville,  de  Me*ru,  de  Montbron, 
and  de  Thore,  and  five  daughters,  of  whom  four  were  mar- 
ried to  MM.  de  la  Tremouille,  de  Turenne,  de  Yentadour 
and  de  Candale,  the  fifth  and  most  beautiful  of  all  becoming 
Abbess  of  Saint- Pierre  de  Rheims. 

Now  all  these  illustrious  people  had  to  be  well  established 
— a  subject  on  which  the  grasping  constable  was  meditating 
when  the  king  entered. 

On  perceiving  Henri,  all  rose  and  uncovered. 

The  king  saluted  Montmorency  with  a  friendly  and  al- 
most soldier-like  gesture,  while  he  bowed  to  the  cardinal 
with  every  appearance  of  deference. 

"I  have  summoned  you,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  "for  the 
subject  on  which  I  have  to  consult  you  is  grave.  M.  de 
Nemours  has  arrived  from  Italy,  where  affairs  are  turning 
out  badly,  owing  to  the  failure  of  his  Holiness  to  keep  his 
word,  and  the  treason  of  most  of  our  allies.  Everything,  at 
first,  succeeded  wonderfully.  M.  de  Strozzi  captured  Ostia; 
it  is  true  we  lost  in  the  trenches  of  the  city  M.  de  Montluc 


brave  and  worthy  gentleman,  for  whose  soul,  gentlemen, 
I  ask  your  prayers.  Thereupon,  .the  Duke  of  Alba,  knowing 
the  near  arrival  of  your  illustrious  brother,  my  dear  cardi- 
nal, retired  to  Naples.  All  the  places  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Borne  were,  in  consequence,  successively  occupied  by  us. 
In  effect,  after  crossing  the  Milanese,  the  duke  advanced 
to  Eeggio,  where  his  father-in-law,  the  Duke  of  Ferrara, 
awaited  him  with  six  thousand  infantry  and  eight  hundred 
cavalry.  There  a  counsel  was  held  between  Cardinal  Caraffa 
and  Jean  de  Lodeve,  ambassador  of  the  king.  One  party 
was  of  opinion  that  Cremona  or  Pavia  ought  to  be  attacked, 
while  Marechal  de  Brissac  was  holding  the  enemy  in  check; 
the  other  represented  that,  before  either  could  be  occupied, 
the  Duke  of  Alba  would  have  doubled  his  army  by  raising 
levies  in  Tuscany  and  the  kingdom  of  Naples.  Cardinal 
Caraffa  was  of  a  different  opinion :  he  proposed  entering  the 
march  of  Ancona  through  the  Terra  di  Lavoro,  all  whose 
fortresses,  being  badly  fortified,  would,  he  said,  surrender  at 
the  first  summons ;  but  the  Duke  of  Ferrara  insisted,  on  the 
other  hand,  that  the  defence  of  the  Holy  See  being  the  prin- 
cipal object  of  the  campaign,  the  Due  de  Cruise  should  march 
straight  on  Rome.  The  Due  de  Guise  decided  for  the  latter 
course,  and  wished  to  take  with  him  the  six  thousand  in- 
fantry and  eight  hundred  cavalry  of  the  Duke  of  Ferrara, 
who  refused,  saying  he  might  be  attacked  at  any  moment 
by  the  Grandduke  Cosmo  de  Medicis  or  by  the  Duke  of 
Parma,  who  had  just  joined  the  Spaniards.  M.  de  Guise, 
gentlemen,  was  then  obliged  to  continue  his  march  with  the 
few  troops  left  him,  having  no  hope  except  in  the  contingent 
which,  according  to  Cardinal  Caraffa,  was  to  join  the  French 
army  at  Bologna.  Arrived  at  Bologna  with  the  cardinal, 
his  nephew,  the  duke  looked  in  vain  for  this  contingent.  It 
did  not  exist.  Your  brother,  my  dear  cardinal,  complained 
loudly;  but  Caraffa  answered  that  he  was  going  to  look  up 
ten  thousand  men  lately  levied  in  the  march  of  Ancona. 
The  duke  tried  to  believe  in  this  promise,  and  continued 
on  his  way  through  the  Komagna.  No  reinforcement  came 


to  him ;  lie  left  our  army  there  under  the  command  of  M. 
d'Aumale,  and  proceeded  to  Eome  directly,  to  learn  from 
the  Holy  Father  himself  what  he  intended  to  do.  The  Pope, 
driven  to  the  wall  by  M.  de  Cruise,  replied  that  he  agreed, 
indeed,  to  have  a  contingent  of  twenty-four  thousand  men 
for  this  war,  but  that  among  these  twenty -four  thousand 
were  comprised  the  soldiers  holding  the  strong  places  of 
the  Church;  now  those  thus  employed  numbered  eighteen 
thousand.  M.  de  Cruise  saw  he  could  only  reckon  on  the 
men  he  had  with  him;  but,  according  to  the  saying  of 
the  Pope,  these  men  ought  to  be  enough,  as  the  French 
had  never  failed,  up  to  this  time,  in  their  enterprises  on 
Naples,  except  when  they  had  the  Sovereign  Pontiff  against 
them.  Now  this  time,  instead  of  being  against  them,  the 
Sovereign  Pontiff  was  with  them ;  and,  thanks  to  this  moral 
and  spiritual  co-operation,  the  French  were  sure  to  succeed. 
M.  de  Cruise,  my  dear  constable,  is  a  little  like  you  in  this 
respect:  he  never  doubts  of  his  fortune  when  he  has  his 
good  sword  by  his  side,  and  a  few  thousand  brave  men 
behind  him.  He  hastened  the  coming  of  his  army ;  and  as 
soon  as  it  joined  him,  he  marched  out  of  Eome,  attacked 
Campli,  carried  it  by  storm,  and  put  all,  men,  women  and 
children,  to  the  sword." 

The  constable  received  the  news  of  this  execution  with 
the  first  visible  sign  of  approbation  he  had  given. 

The  cardinal  remained  impassive. 

"After  Campli,"  continued  the  king,  "he  laid  siege  to 
Civitella,  which  is,  it  appears,  built  on  a  craggy  hill,  and 
well  supplied  with  fortifications.  He  began  by  battering 
down  the  citadel;  but  before  a  practicable  breach  could 
be  made,  our  soldiers,  with  their  usual  impatience,  risked 
an  assault.  Unfortunately,  the  place  they  tried  to  force  was 
defended  on  all  sides  by  bastions;  our  army  was  repulsed 
with  the  loss  of  two  hundred  killed  and  three  hundred 
wounded. ' ' 

A  smile  of  joy  broke  over  the  lips  of  the  constable;  the 
invincible  hero  had  failed  before  a  shed. 


"Meanwhile,"  the  king  went  on,  "the  Duke  of  Alba  had 
gathered  his  troops  together  at  Chieti,  and  now  marched  to 
the  succor  of  the  besieged  with  an  army  of  three  thousand 
Spaniards,  six  thousand  Germans,  three  thousand  Italians, 
and  three  hundred  Calabrians.  It  was  more  than  double 
the  number  possessed  by  the  Due  de  Guise.  This  inferi- 
ority determined  the  duke  to  raise  the  siege  and  meet  the 
enemy  in  the  open  plain  between  Fermo  and  Ascoli.  He 
hoped  the  Duke  of  Alba  would  accept  the  battle  offered 
him ;  but  the  Duke  of  Alba,  sure  that  we  should  be  ruined 
in  any  case,  simply  occupied  the  country,  and  would  accept 
neither  battle  nor  encounter  except  in  positions  that  left  us 
no  chance  of  success.  In  this  situation,  without  hopes  of 
obtaining  from  the  Pope  either  men  or  money,  M.  de  Guise 
sends  M.  de  Nemours  to  me  to  ask  a  considerable  reinforce- 
ment, or  leave  to  quit  Italy  and  return.  What  is  your  opin- 
ion, gentlemen  ?  Should  we  make  one  last  effort,  and  send 
our  well-beloved  duke  the  men  and  money  he  absolutely 
needs,  or  recall  him,  and,  by  recalling  him,  renounce  our 
claims  to  that  fair  kingdom  of  Naples,  which,  on  the  prom- 
ise of  his  Holiness,  we  had  intended  for  our  son  Charles?" 

The  constable  made  a  gesture,  as  if  to  ask  leave  to  speak, 
while  at  the  same  time  indicating  that  he  was  ready  to  give 
way  to  the  Cardinal  de  Lorraine;  but  the  latter,  by  a  slight 
motion  of  the  head,  gave  it  to  be  understood  he  might 
speak  first. 

It  was,  for  that  matter,  the  usual  tactics  of  the  cardinal 
to  let  his  adversary  speak  first. 

"Sire,"  said  Montmorency,  "my  opinion  is  that  we  must 
not  abandon  an  affair  so  well  begun,  and  that  your  Majesty 
should  omit  no  effort  to  support  your  army  and  your  general 
in  Italy. ' ' 

"And  you,  M.  le  Cardinal?"  said  the  king. 

"As  for  me,"  said  Charles  de  Guise,  "I  must  ask  M. 
de  Connetable  to  excuse  me,  but  my  opinion  is  absolutely 
opposed  to  his. ' ' 

"That  is  no  surprise  to  me,  M.  le  Cardinal,"  answered 


Montmorency,  bitterly.  ' '  It  would  have  been  the  first  time 
we  agreed,  were  it  otherwise.  So  you  think,  monsieur,  your 
brother  ought  to  return?" 

"It  would  be,  I  believe,  good  policy  to  recall  him." 

"Alone  or  with  his  army?" 

"With  his  army  to  the  last  man!" 

"And  why  so?  Do  you  think  there  are  not  enough  of 
bandits  prowling  already  on  the  highways  ?  I  happen  to 
know  there  is  a  regular  harvest  -of  them. ' ' 

"There  are  perhaps  bandits  enough  prowling  on  the 
highways,  M.  le  Connetable — there  is  perhaps  a  regular 
harvest  of  them,  as  you  say;  but  we  have  no  harvest  of 
brave  soldiers  and  great  captains." 

"You  forget,  M.  le  Cardinal,  that  we  are  in  full  peace, 
and,  being  in  full  peace,  we  can  do  without  your  sublime 
conquerors. ' ' 

"I  beg  your  Majesty  to  ask  M.  le  Connetable,"  said  the 
cardinal,  turning  to  the  king,  "if  he  believes  seriously  in 
the  duration  of  peace." 

"Morbleuf  if  I  believe  in  it,"  said  the  constable — "a  nice 
question  that!" 

' '  Well,  I  am  so  far  from  believing  in  it, ' '  said  the  cardi- 
nal, "that  I  think  if  your  Majesty  does  not  wish  to  let  the 
King  of  Spain  have  the  glory  of  attacking  you,  you  should 
at  once  attack  the  King  of  Spain. ' ' 

"In  spite  of  the  truce  solemnly  sworn?"  cried  the  con- 
stable, with  such  ardor  that  one  would  have  believed  in  his 
sincerity.  "But  do  you  forget,  M.  le  Cardinal,  that  it  is  a 
duty  to  keep  one's  oath  ?  that  the  word  of  a  king  ought  to 
be  more  inviolable  than  any  other  word,  and  that  France  has 
never  been  a  recreant  to  her  good  faith,  even  when  dealing 
with  Turks  and  Saracens?" 

"But  then,  if  this  is  so,"  asked  the  cardinal,  "why  has 
your  nephew,  M.  de  Chatillon,  instead  of  remaining  quiet 
in  his  government  of  Picardy,  attempted  to  surprise  and 
scale  the  walls  of  Douai,  in  which  he  would  have  succeeded 
but  for  an  old  woman  passing,  by  chance,  near  the  place 


where  the  ladders  were  planted,   who   gave   the  alarm  to 
the  sentinels?" 

"Why  has  my  nephew  done  that?"  said  Montmorency, 
at  once  falling  into  the  snare.  "I  am  just  going  to  tell 
you  why  he  has  done  that." 

"We  are  listening,"  said  the  cardinal. 

Then,  turning  to  the  king,  with  a  marked  purpose  in  his 
accent,  he  said — 

"Listen,  Sire." 

"Oh,  his  Majesty  knows  it  as  well  as  I  do,  mordieu!" 
said  the  constable;  "for  though  he  appears  entirely  taken 
up  with  his  loves,  have  the  goodness  to  learn,  M.  le  Car- 
dinal, that  we  do  not  leave  him  entirely  ignorant  of  state 

"We  are  listening,  M.  le  Connetable,"  returned  the  car- 
dinal, coldly;  "you  were  about  to  tell  the  reason  why  M. 
1'Amiral  made  the  attack  on  Douai." 

"The  reason!  I  could  give  you  ten  instead  of  one, 

"Give  them,  M.  le  Connetable." 

"First,"  replied  the  latter,  "the  attempt  made  by  Comte 
Megue,  governor  of  Luxembourg,  through  the  agency  of  his 
maitre  d' hotel,  who  corrupted  three  soldiers  of  the  garrison 
by  a  present  of  a  thousand  crowns  in  hand  and  promise  of  a 
pension  of  the  same  amount,  for  which  they  were  to  deliver 
up  the  city. ' ' 

"The  city  which  my  brother  has  so  gloriously  defended; 
it  is  true,"  said  the  cardinal,  "we  have  heard  of  that  at- 
tempt, which,  like  your  nephew's,  has  happily  failed.  But 
this  makes  only  one  excuse,  and  you  have  promised  us  ten, 
M.  le  Connetable." 

"Oh,  wait.  Are  you  not  yet  aware  that  this  Comte 
Megue  suborned  a  Provengal  soldier  of  the  garrison  of 
Marienbourg,  who,  in  return  for  the  large  sum  given  him, 
engaged  to  poison  the  wells  of  the  fortress,  and  that  the 
enterprise  only  failed  because  Comte  Megue  did  not  think 
a  single  man  sufficient  for  the  job,  and  the  others  he  tried 


to  deal  with  discovered  the  conspiracy.  You  will  not  say 
the  thing  is  false,  M.  le  Cardinal,  for  the  soldier  was  broken 
alive  on  the  wheel. ' ' 

"That  would  hardly  be  a  reason  for  convincing  me. 
You  have,  during  your  lifetime,  M.  le  Connetable,  broken 
on  the  wheel  and  hanged  not  a  small  number  of  people 
whom  I  consider  as  innocent  and  as  much  martyrs  as  those 
whom  the  Eoman  emperors  named  Nero,  Commodus,  and 
Domitian  sent  to  die  in  their  circuses. ' ' 

"Mordieu!  M.  le  Cardinal,  would  you  perchance  deny 
this  enterprise  of  Comte  Megue  on  the  wells  of  Marien- 

"On  the  contrary,  M.  le  Connetable,  I  told  you  I  ad- 
mitted it.  But  you  promised  us  ten  excuses  for  the  enter- 
prise of  your  nephew,  and  we  have  only  two  so  far. ' ' 

' '  You  shall  have  them,  mordieu  !  you  shall  have  them ! 
Are  you  ignorant,  for  example,  that  Comte  Berlaimont, 
intendant  of  the  finances  of  Flanders,  made  a  plot  with 
two  Gascon  soldiers  and  got  them  to  pledge  themselves, 
with  the  help  of  Sieur  de  Yeze,  captain  of  a  company  of 
foot  in  the  king's  service,  to  deliver  the  city  of  Bordeaux 
to  the  King  of  Spain,  provided  they  were  seconded  by  five 
or  six  hundred  men  ?  You  just  say  no  to  this  fresh  plot  of 
the  Catholic  king,  and  I  shall  answer  that  one  of  these  two 
soldiers,  arrested  near  Saint- Quentin  by  the  governor  of 
the  place,  confessed  everything,  and  acknowledged  that  he 
had  even  received  the  reward  promised  in  the  presence 
of  Antoine  Perrenot,  Bishop  of  Arras.  Come  now,  M.  le 
Cardinal,  say  no!  mordieu,  say  no!" 

UI  have  not  the  slightest  intention  of  doing  so,"  replied 
the  cardinal,  smiling,  "seeing  that  it  is  the  truth  beyond 
doubt,  M.  le  Connetable,  and  I  do  not  care  to  expose  my 
soul  to  peril  by  such  a  lie.  But  this  only  makes  three  in- 
fractions of  the  treaty  of  Vaucelles  by  his  Majesty  the  King 
of  Spain,  and  you  have  promised  us  ten. ' ' 

"Oh,  I  can  easily  furnish  you  ten,  or  a  dozen  if  you 
want  them !  For  instance,  has  not  Maitre  Jacques  de  Fleche, 


one  of  King  Philip's  best  engineers,  been  caught  sounding 
the  fords  of  the  Oise,  and  conducted  to  La  Fere,  where  he 
confessed  that  Emmanuel  Philibert,  Duke  of  Savoy,  had 
ordered  M.  de  Berlaimont  to  pay  him  money  for  drawing 
the  plans  of  Montreuil,  Roye,  Doullens,  Saint- Quentin,  and 
Mezieres — places  the  Spaniards  want  to  seize — in  order  to 
control  Boulogne  and  Ardres  and  prevent  the  revictualling 
of  Marienbourg?" 

"All  this  is  perfectly  correct,  M.  le  Connetable,  but  we 
are  not  yet  near  the  ten. ' ' 

' '  Eh,  mordieu  !  do  we  require  ten  in  order  to  see  that  the 
truce  has,  in  reality,  been  broken  by  the  Spaniards,  and  that 
if  my  nephew,  M.  1'Amiral,  has  made  an  attempt  on  Douai, 
he  had  a  perfect  right  to  do  so  ?" 

' '  And  I  have  no  intention  of  asking  you  to  say  anything 
further,  M.  le  Connetable ;  those  four  proofs  are  enough  to 
show  me  that  the  truce  has  been  broken  by  Philip  II.  Now, 
the  truce  being  broken,  not  once,  but  four  times,  it  is  the 
King  of  Spain  who  violates  his  word  by  breaking  the  truce, 
and  not  the  King  of  France  who  will  violate  his  by  recalling 
from  Italy  his  army  and  general  and  preparing  for  war. ' ' 

The  constable  bit  his  white  mustaches;  the  crafty  spirit 
of  his  adversary  had  just  made  him  confess  the  opposite  of 
what  he  had  meant  to  say. 

But  "the  cardinal  had  hardly  ceased  speaking,  and  the 
constable  biting  his  mustaches,  when  the  sound  of  a  trumpet 
playing  a  foreign  air  was  heard  in  the  courtyard  of  the 
chateau  of  Saint- Germain. 

"Oh,  oh!"  said  the  king,  "what  mischievous  page  is 
that,  lacerating  my  ears  with  an  English  air  ?  Go  and  find 
"out,  M.  de  1' Aubespine,  and  let  the  little  rascal  have  a  sound 
whipping  for  his  merry  pranks. ' ' 

M.  de  1' Aubespine  went  out  to  execute  the  orders  of 
the  king. 

Five  minutes  after,   he  returned. 

"Sire,"  said  he,  "it  is  neither  page,  equerry,  nor 
whipper-in  who  has  played  the  air  in  question;  it  is  an 


English,  trumpeter  accompanying  a  herald  sent  you  by 
Queen  Mary." 

Scarcely  had  M.  de  1'Aubespine  finished  these  words, 
when  the  trumpet  sounded  again,  this  time  playing  a 
Spanish  air. 

"Ah!"  said  the  king,  "after  the  wife,  the  husband,  it 
would  seem. ' ' 

Then,  with  that  majesty  which  all  those  old  kings  of 
France  knew  how  to  assume  so  well  when  the  occasion 
needed — 

"Messieurs,"  he  said,  "to  the  throne-room!  Warn  our 
officers,  as  I  shall  the  court.  Whatever  be  the  message 
our  cousin  Mary  and  our  cousin  Philip  may  send  us,  it  is 
necessary  to  do  honor  to  their  messengers. ' ' 



THE  sounds  from  the  English  and  Spanish  trumpets 
had  re-echoed,  not  only  in  the  hall  of  council,  but 
throughout  the  entire  palace,  being,  as  they  were, 
a  sort  of  double  echo  from  the  North  and  from  the  South. 

The  king  found,  therefore,  that  the  court  was  already 
pretty  well  informed  of  the  condition  of  things;  all  the 
ladies  were  at  the  windows,  and  eyes  were  fixed  curiously 
on  the  two  heralds  and  their  suite.  At  the  council  door, 
the  constable  was  met  by  a  young  officer  sent  him  by  his 
nephew  Coligny — the  same  Coligny  we  saw  entering  the 
room  of  Charles  V".  on  the  evening  of  his  abdication. 

The  admiral  was,  as  we  have  already  said,  governor  of 
Picardy;  he  would  therefore,  in  case  of  invasion,  be  the 
one  first  exposed  to  attack. 

"Ah,  it  is  you,  Th&igny !"  '  said  the  constable,  in  a  low 

1  This  Theligny  was  no  relation  of  the  kinsman  of  Coligny  of  the  same 
name  killed  in  the  massacre  of  Saint-Bartholomew. 


"Yes,  monseigneur, "  replied  the  young  officer. 

"And  you  bring  news  of  the  admiral?" 

"Yes,  monseigneur." 

"Have  you  seen  or  spoken  to  any  one  on  the  subject, 
so  far?" 

' '  The  news  is  for  the  king,  monseigneur, ' '  answered  the 
young  officer;  "but  I  have  been  directed  to  communicate 
it  to  you  first." 

' '  Very  well, ' '  said  the  constable ;  ' '  follow  me. ' ' 

And  just  as  the  Cardinal  de  Lorraine  had  led  the  Due 
de  Nemours  to  the  apartments  of  Catherine  de  Medicis,  so 
the  constable  led  M.  de  Theligny  to  those  of  Madame  de 

But,  in  the  meantime,  the  reception  was  being  held. 

At  the  end  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  the  king — having  the 
queen  on  his  right,  all  the  great  officers  on  the  steps  of 
the  throne ;  around  him,  seated  in  armchairs,  Madame  Mar- 
guerite and  Madame  Elisabeth  of  France,  Mary  Stuart,  the 
Duchesse  de  Yalentinois,  the  four  Marys;  in  fine,  the  entire 
brilliant  court  of  the  Valois — the  king  gave  orders  for  the 
English  herald  to  be  introduced. 

Long  before  he  made  his  appearance,  the  jingling  of  his 
spurs  and  of  those  of  the  men-at-arms  forming  his  escort 
was  heard  in  the  antechambers.  At  last  he  crossed  the 
threshold,  clad  in  the  tabard  with  the  English  arms  em- 
broidered on  it,  and  advanced  with  his  head  covered,  stop- 
ping within  ten  steps  of  the  throne.  There  he  uncovered, 
and,  putting  one  knee  to  the  ground,  said  in  a  loud 
voice : 

"Mary,  Queen  of  England,  Ireland,  and  France,  to  Henri, 
King  of  France,  greeting !  Because  you  have  given  aid  and 
comfort  to  the  English  Protestants,  enemies  of  our  person, 
religion  and  state,  and  because  you  have  promised  them 
succor  an'd  protection  against  the  just  prosecutions  of  which 
they  are  now  the  object,  we,  William  Norry,  declare  war 
against  you  on  land  and  sea,  and  as  a  sign  of  defiance,  we 
throw  here  the  glove  of  battle." 


And  the  herald  flung  at  the  feet  of  the  king  his  iron 
gauntlet,  which  resounded  harshly  on  the  floor. 

"It  is  well,"  replied  the  king,  without  rising.  "I  accept 
this  declaration  of  war;  but  I  wish  the  whole  world  to  know 
that  I  have  kept  the  good  faith  due  to  our  mutual  good 
friendship ;  and,  since  it  is  her  pleasure  to  attack  France  for 
so  unjust  a  cause,  I  hope,  through  the  favor  of  God,  that 
she  will  gain  no  more  by  her  action  than  her  predecessors 
have  done  when  they  have  attacked  mine.  For  that  matter, 
I  speak  to  you  mildly  and  civilly,  because  it  is  a  queen  who 
sends  you;  if  it  were  a  king,  I  would  speak  to  you  in  a 
different  tone." 

And,  turning  to  Mary  Stuart — 

"My  gentle  Queen  of  Scotland,"  he  said,  "as  this  war 
concerns  you  not  less  than  me,  and  as  you  have  quite  as 
many  rights  to  the  crown  of  England  as  my  sister  has  to  that 
of  France,  if  not  more,  pick  up,  I  pray  you,  that  glove,  and 
make  a  gift  to  the  brave  Sir  William  Norry  of  the  gold 
chain  around  your  neck,  which  the  Duchesse  de  Yalentinois 
will  be  good  enough  to  replace  by  the  chain  of  pearls  she 
has  on  hers.  I,  in  turn,  shall  replace  in  such  manner  that 
she  shall  not  suffer  too  much  loss  thereby.  Go!  To  pick 
up  a  woman's  glove,  a  woman's  hands  are  needed!" 

Mary  Stuart  rose,  and,  with  all  her  exquisite  grace,  un- 
fastened the  chain  from  her  neck  and  flung  it  round  that 
of  the  herald;  then,  with  that  lofty  air  that  so  well  became 
her  countenance — 

"I  pick  up  this  glove,"  she  said,  "not  only  in  the  name 
of  France,  but  also  in  the  name  of  Scotland !  Herald,  tell 
my  sister  Mary  what  I  have  said. ' ' 

The  herald  stood  up,  bent  his  head  slightly,  and,  step- 
ping back  to  the  left  of  the  throne,  said — 

' '  It  shall  be  done  according  to  the  desires  of  King  Henri 
of  France  and  Queen  Mary  of  Scotland. ' ' 

"Introduce  the  herald  of  our  brother  Philip  II.,"  said 
the  king. 

The  same  jingling  of  spurs  was  heard,  announcing  the 


approach  of  the  Spanish  herald,  who  entered  still  more 
haughtily  than  had  his  colleague;  and,  all  the  time  twist- 
ing his  Castilian  mustaches,  he  approached  within  ten  steps 
of  the  king,  and  said,  without  bending  the  knee,  contenting 
himself  with  a  slight  inclination  of  the  head — 

"Philip,  by  divine  clemency,  King  of  Castile,  Leon, 
Granada,  Navarre,  Aragon,  Naples,  Sicily,  Majorca,  Sar- 
dinia, the  isles,  Indias,  and  lands  of  the  ocean;  Archduke 
of  Austria;  Duke  of  Burgundy,  Lothier,  Brabant,  Lim- 
bourg,  Luxembourg,  and  Guelders:  Count  of  Flanders  and 
Artois;  Marquis  of  the  Holy  Empire;  Seigneur  of  Fries- 
land,  Salins,  Malines,  the  cities  and  countries  of  Utrecht, 
Overyssel,  and  Groeningen;  Sovereign  in  Asia  and  Africa; 
to  you,  Henri  of  France,  we  make  known  that  because 
of  the  assault  made  on  the  city  of  Douai,  and  the  pillage  of 
the  city  of  Sens,  both  having  been  by  the  orders  and  under 
the  direction  of  your  governor  of  Picardy,  and  because  we 
regard  the  truce  sworn  between  you  and  us  at  Vaucelles 
as  broken,  we  declare  war  against  you  on  land  and  sea ;  as 
gage  of  which  defiance,  in  the  name  of  my  said  king,  prince 
and  lord,  I,  Guzman  d'Avila,  herald  of  Castile,  Leon,  Gra- 
nada, Navarre,  and  Aragon,  fling  here  my  glove  of  battle. ' ' 

And,  ungloving  his  right  hand,  he  flung  the  glove  inso- 
lently at  the  feet  of  the  king. 

Then  the  deeply  tanned  and  manly  face  of  Henri  II.  be- 
came pale,  and  in  a  somewhat  altered  tone  he  replied : 

"Our  brother  Philip  II.  anticipates  us,  and  therefore  we 
have  some  reason  to  reproach  him ;  but  he  would  have  done 
better,  since  he  has  so  many  personal  grievances  against  us, 
to  have  made  of  this  quarrel  a  personal  quarrel.  We  would 
have  very  willingly  answered  for  our  acts  face  to  face  and 
body  to  body,  and  the  Lord  God  would  then  have  judged 
between  us.  Tell  him,  however,  Don  Guzman,  that  we  ac- 
cept with  the  utmost  confidence  the  war  which  he  declares 
against  us;  but  I  should  be  far  more  pleased  still,  if  he  were 
to  arrange  a  meeting  between  me  and  him  instead  of  one  be- 
tween our  two  armies. ' ' 


And  as  the  constable  touched  his  arm  meaningly — 

' '  And  you  will  add, ' '  continued  Henri,  ' '  that  when  I  made 
this  proposal,  my  good  friend,  M.  de  Montmorency,  touched 
my  arm,  because  he  -  knows  there  is  a  prophecy  that  I  shall 
die  in  a  duel.  Well,  at  the  risk  of  the  fulfilment  of  that 
prophecy,  I  persist  in  the  proposal,  although  I  have  no 
doubt  that  this  prediction  will  give  sufficient  confidence 
to  my  brother  to  induce  him  to  accept.  M.  de  Montmo- 
rency, I  pray  you,  as  Constable  of  France,  to  pick  up  the 
glove  of  Ring  Philip." 

Then  to  the  herald — 

' '  Stay,  my  friend, ' '  he  said,  taking  a  bag  placed  behind 
him  for  the  purpose,  and  full  of  gold,  "it  is  far  from  here 
to  Valladolid;  and  as  you  have  come  hither  to  bring  us 
such  good  news,  it  is  not  fitting  that  you  should  spend 
your  master's  money  or  your  own  on  the  route.  Take, 
therefore,  these  hundred  crowns  of  gold  to  defray  the  ex- 
penses of  your  journey." 

' '  Sire, ' '  replied  the  herald,  4 '  my  master  and  I  belong  to 
a  country  where  gold  grows,  and  we  have  only  to  stoop 
to  pick  it  up." 

And,  saluting  the  king,  he  took  a  step  backward — 

"Ah,  proud  as  a  Castilian!"  murmured  Henri.  "M.  de 
Montgomery,  take  that  sack  and  make  largess  of  what  it 
contains  through  the  window." 

"  Montgomery  took  the  sack,  opened  the  window,  and 
threw  the  gold  to  the  lackeys  in  the  court,  who  received 
it  with  joyous  hurrahs. 

"Gentlemen,"  continued  Henri,  rising,  "there  is  always 
high  festival  at  the  court  of  France  when  a  neighboring 
sovereign  declares  war  on  its  king;  there  shall  be  double 
festival  this  evening,  since  we  have  received  declarations 
of  war  at  the  same  time  from  a  king  and  a  queen." 

Then,  turning  to  the  two  heralds  who  were  standing,  the 
one  on  his  left,  the  other  on  his  right — 

"Sir  William  Norry,  Don  Guzman  d'Avila,"  said  the 
king,  "seeing  that  you  are  the  causes  of  the  festival,  you 


'are,  as  representing  King  Philip,  my  brother,  and  Queen 
Mary,  my  sister,  invited  to  it  of  right." 

"Sire,"  whispered  the  constable  to  Henri,  "would  it 
please  you  to  hear  the  fresh  news  from  Picardy,  brought 
from  my  nephew  by  a  lieutenant  of  the  dauphin's  regiment 
named  Theligny?" 

"Yes,  indeed,"  said  the  king.  "Bring  him  to  me;  he 
shall  be  welcome." 

Five  minutes  afterward,  the  young  man  was  led  into  the 
chamber  of  arms,  and,  bowing  respectfully  before  the  king, 
waited  until  the  latter  should  address  him. 

"Well,  monsieur,"  said  the  king,  "what  news  do  you 
bring  of  the  health  of  M.  1'Amiral?" 

"As  far  as  that  goes,  excellent,  sire;  never  has  M. 
1'Amiral  been  stronger." 

"Then  may  (rod  keep  him  so,  and  all  will  be  well! 
Where  did  you  leave  him?" 

"At  La  Fere,  sire." 

"And  what  news  did  he  charge  you  to  transmit  to  me?" 

"Sire,  he  has  charged  me  to  tell  your  Majesty  to  prepare 
for  a  serious  war.  The  enemy  has  assembled  more  than  fifty 
thousand  men,  and  M.  1'Amiral  believes  that  all  his  preced- 
ing attempts  have  been  only  a  false  demonstration  to  conceal 
his  real  plans." 

"And  what  has  the  enemy  been  doing  up  to  now?" 
asked  the  king. 

"The  Duke  of  Savoy,  who  is  commander- in-chief, "  re- 
plied the  young  lieutenant,  "has  advanced  as  far  as  Grivet, 
accompanied  by  Count  Mansfield,  Count  Egmont,  the  Duke 
of  Aerschott,  and  the  principal  officers  of  his  army,  where 
the  general  rendezvous  of  the  hostile  forces  was  estab- 

"I  have  learned  as  much  through  the  Due  de  Nevers, 
governor  of  Champagne,"  said  the  king;  "he  even  added, 
in  his  despatches  on  the  subject,  that  he  believed  Emmanuel 
Philibert  aimed  principally  at  Rocroy  and  Mezieres;  and, 
believing  Eocroy,  which  has  been  only  lately  fortified, 

(H)_Yol.  20 


was  in  bad  condition  to  sustain  a  siege,  I  recommended  tlie 
Due  de  fevers  to  see  if  it  would  not  be  better  to  abandon 
it.  Since  that  time  I  have  had  no  news  of  him. " 

"I  bring  some  to  your  Majesty,"  said  Theligny.  "Sure 
of  the  strength  of  the  place,  M.  de  Nevers  shut  himself  up 
in  it,  and,  sheltered  behind  its  walls,  has  so  well  received 
the  enemy  that  after  several  skirmishes,  in  which  he  lost 
a  few  hundred  men,  he  has  forced  him  to  retire  across  the 
ford  of  Houssu,  between  the  village  of  Nismes  and  Haute- 
roche;  from  thence  the  enemy  took  his  way  by  Chimay, 
Grlayon,  and  Montreuil-aux-Dames;  passed  by  La  Chapelle, 
which  he  pillaged,  and  Yervins,  which  he  reduced  to  ashes; 
in  fine,  he  has  advanced  as  far  as  G-uise,  and  M.  1'Amiral 
has  no  doubt  it  is  his  intention  to  besiege  that  place,  in 
which  M.  de  Yasse  has  shut  himself  up. ' ' 

"What  troops  does  the  Duke  of  Savoy  command?" 
asked  the  king. 

' '  Flemish,  Spanish,  and  German  troops,  sire ;  very  nearly 
forty  thousand  foot  and  fifteen  thousand  horse. ' ' 

' '  And  how  many  can  M.  de  Chatillon  and  M.  de  Nevers 
dispose  of?" 

"Sire,  were  they  to  unite  all  their  forces,  they  could 
hardly  dispose  of  eighteen  thousand  infantry,  and  from 
five  to  six  thousand  cavalry;  without  reckoning  that, 
among  the  latter,  are  fifteen  hundred  or  two  thousand 
Englishmen,  whom  it  would  be  necessary  to  distrust,  in 
case  of  war  with  Queen  Mary. ' ' 

"So  that,  considering  the  number  of  men  we  shall  be 
forced  to  leave  as  garrisons  in  the  cities,  twelve  or  fourteen 
thousand  men  are  the  most  we  -shall  be  able  to  give  you,  my 
dear  constable,"  said  Henri,  turning  to  Montmorency. 

"Well,  be  it  so,  sire;  with  the  few  you  give  me  I  shall 
do  my  best.  I  have  heard  that  a  famous  general  of  antiq- 
uity, named  Xenophon,  had  only  ten  thousand  soldiers  un- 
der his  orders  when  he  accomplished  a  magnificent  retreat 
of  a  hundred  and  fifty  leagues;  and  that  Leonidas,  King 
of  Sparta,  commanded  at  most  a  thousand  men  when  he 


arrested  for  eight  days,  at  Thermopylae,  the  army  of  King 
Xerxes,  which  was,  however,  far  more  numerous  than  that 
of  the  Duke  of  Savoy. ' ' 

"So  you  are  not  discouraged,  my  dear  constable?"  said 
the  king. 

' '  Quite  the  contrary,  sire !  And,  mordieu  !  I  have  never 
been  so  joyous  and  of  such  good  hope.  I  only  want  to  find 
a  man  who  can  give  me  some  information  as  to  the  state 
of  Saint-Quentin. " 

"Why  so,  constable?"  asked  the  king. 

"Because  with  the  keys  of  Saint-Quentin  the  gates  of 
Paris  are  opened,  sire;  it  is  an  old  proverb.  Do  you  know 
Saint-Quentin,  M.  de  Theligny?" 

"No,  monseigneur;  but  if  I  dared — " 

"Dare  then!  dare,  mordieu!  the  king  permits  you. " 

"Well,  then,  M.  le  Connetable,  I  have  with  me  a  kind 
of  groom  given  me  by  M.  1'Amiral,  who,  if  he  wishes,  can, 
I  fancy,  give  you  some  information  on  the  state  of  the 

"What!  if  he  wishes!"  cried  the  constable.  "He  shall 
wish,  you  may  be  certain. ' ' 

"Without  doubt,"  said  Theligny,  "he  will  not  dare  to 
refuse  answering  the  questions  of  M.  le  Connetable,  only, 
as  he  is  a  very  shrewd  rascal,  he  may  answer  them  after  his 
own  fashion." 

"After  his  own  fashion?  You'll  find  his  own  fashion 
will  be  after  mine,  M.  le  Lieutenant." 

"Ah!  that  is  just  the  point  on  which  I  would  beg  you 
not  to  make  any  mistake.  He  will  answer  after  his  own 
fashion,  and  not  after  yours;  seeing  that  as  you,  mon- 
seigneur, do  not  know  Saint-Quentin,  you  cannot  tell 
whether  he  is  speaking  the  truth  or  not." 

"If  he  does  not  speak  the  truth,  I  shall  have  him 
hanged. ' ' 

' '  Yes ;  it  is  a  means  of  punishing  him,  but  not  of  utiliz- 
ing him.  Believe  me,  M.  le  Connetable,  he  is  an  adroit, 
cunning  fellow,  very  brave  when  he  wishes — 


"How,  when  he  wishes?  He  is  not  brave  at  all  times, 
then?"  interrupted  Montmorency. 

"He  is  brave  when  others  are  looking  on,  and  when  they 
are  not  looking  on,  if  it  is  his  interest  to  fight.  One  can't 
expect  anything  more  of  an  adventurer. ' ' 

"My  good  constable,"  said  the  king,  "he  who  wishes 
the  end  wishes  the  means.  This  man  may  render  us  some 
services.  M.  de  Theligny  knows  him;  let  M.  de  Theligny 
conduct  the  inquiry. ' ' 

"Be  it  so,"  said  the  constable;  "but  I  assure  you,  sire, 
I  have  a  way  of  talking  to  people — 

"Yes,  monseigneur, "  replied  The'ligny,  smiling,  "we 
know  your  way,  and  it  has  its  good  side;  but  with  Master 
Yvonnet,  it  would  have  the  effect  of  sending  him  to  the  side 
of  the  enemy  on  the  first  opportunity;  and  he  could  render 
them  all  the  services  against  us  which  he  can  now  render  us 
against  them. ' ' 

"To  the  side  of  the  enemy,  morbleu!  to  the  side  of  the 
enemy,  sacrebleu!"  shouted  the  constable.  "Why,  in  that 
case,  he  ought  to  be  hanged  at  once.  He  is  a  cutthroat,  a 
bandit,  a  traitor  then,  this  groom  of  yours,  M.  de  Theligny. ' ' 

"He  is  an  adventurer  quite  simply,  monseigneur." 

"Oh,  oh!  and  my  nephew  makes  use  of  such  rascals  ?" 

"War  is  war,  monseigneur,"  rejoined  Theligny,  laughing. 

Then,  turning  to  the  king — 

' '  I  place  my  poor  Yvonnet  under  the  safeguard  of  your 
Majesty,  and  ask  that,  whatever  he  may  say  or  do,  I  may 
bring  him  back  with  me  as  safe  and  sound  as  I  have 
brought  him  hither." 

"You  have  my  word,"  said  the  king;  "go  and  fetch 
your  groom." 

' '  If  the  king  permit, ' '  replied  Theligny,  ' '  I  shall  content 
myself  with  making  a  sign  to  him,  and  he  will  come  up." 
'  "Do  so." 

Theligny  opened  a  window  looking  on  the  park,  and 
beckoned  to  some  one. 

Five  minutes  afterward,  Master  Yvonnet  appeared  at  the 


threshold  of  the  door,  clad  in  the  same  cuirass  of  buffalo, 
the  same  maroon- velvet  jacket,  the  same  boots,  in  which  we 
have  already  presented  him  to  the  reader. 

He  held  in  his  hand  the  same  cap  adorned  with  the  same 

Only  everything  was  two  years  older  than  then.  A  cop- 
per chain,  which  was  once  gilt,  was  hanging  from  his  neck 
and  playing  sportively  on  his  breast. 

The  young  man  only  needed  a  glance  to  show  him  with 
whom  he  had  to  deal,  and  doubtless  he  recognized  M.  le 
Connetable  or  the  king,  or  perhaps  both,  for  he  kept  him- 
self respectfully  near  the  door. 

"Come  forward,  Yvonnet;  come  forward,  my  friend," 
said  the  lieutenant,  "and  know  you  are  in  presence  of  his 
Majesty  Henri  II.  and  of  M.  le  Connetable,  who,  on  ac- 
count of  the  way~I  have  extolled  your  merits,  have  desired 
to  see  you. ' ' 

To  the  great  stupefaction  of  the  constable,  Master  Yvon- 
net did  not  appear  the  least  astonished  in  the  world  at  his 
merits  gaining  him  such  an  honor. 

"I  thank  you,  lieutenant,"  said  Yvonnet,  taking  three 
steps  and  then  halting,  half  through  distrust,  half  through 
respect;  "my  merits,  small  though  they  be,  are  at  the  feet 
of  his  Majesty  and  at  the  service  of  M.  le  Connetable. ' ' 

The  king  noticed  the  difference  the  young  man  placed 
between  the  homage  rendered  to  the  royal  majesty  and  the 
obedience  offered  to  M.  de  Montmorency. 

Without  doubt,  this  difference  also  struck  the  constable. 

"All  right!"  he  said;  "no  phrases,  my  fine  fellow!  An- 
swer squarely,  or  if  not — " 

Yvonnet  darted  a  glance  at  Theligny  which  meant,  "Do 
I  run  any  danger,  or  is  it  an  honor  they  are  doing  me  ?" 

But,  strong  in  the  king's  promise,  Theligny  took  hold  of 
the  interrogatory. 

"My  dear  Yvonnet,  the  king  knows  you  are  a  gallant 
cavalier,"  he  said;  "very  much  admired  by  the  ladies,  and 
that  you  devote  to  your  toilet  all  the  revenues  your  intelli- 


gence  and  courage  can  procure.  Now,  as  the  king  desires 
to  put  your  intelligence  to  the  test  at  once,  and  your  cour- 
age later  on,  he  charges  me  to  offer  you  ten  golden  crowns 
if  you  consent  to  give  him,  as  well  as  to  M.  le  Conneta- 
ble,  some  positive  information  respecting  the  city  of  Saint- 

"Would  you  have  the  goodness  to  tell  the  king,  lieuten- 
ant, that  I  am  a  member  of  an  association  of  honest  persons 
who  have  all  sworn  to  distribute  among  the  members  half 
their  several  gains,  whether  acquired  by  dint  of  intelligence 
or  of  force ;  so  that  of  the  ten  crowns  offered  me,  five  would 
belong  to  me  only,  the  other  five  being  the  property  of  the 
association. ' ' 

"And  what  hinders  you  from  keeping  the  ten,  idiot," 
retorted  the  constable,  ' '  and  saying  nothing  of  the  good  for- 
tune that  falls  to  your  share  ?" 

"My  word,  M.  le  Connetable.  We  are  too  small  people, 
we  are,  to  venture  on  breaking  it. ' ' 

"Sire,"  said  the  constable,  "I  distrust  strongly  those 
people  who  do  things  only  for  money. ' ' 

Yvonnet  bent  low  before  the  king. 

"I  ask  your  Majesty's  leave  to  say  two  words. " 

"Well,  upon  my  word!     This  rascal /has — ' 

"Constable,"  said  the  king,  "I  beg  you — 

Then  smiling — 

' '  Speak,  my  friend, ' '  said  he  to  Yvonnet. 

The  constable  shrugged  his  shoulders,  took  three  steps 
backward,  and  began  to  walk  backward  and  forward,  like 
a  man  who  does  not  care  to  take  part  in  the  conversation. 

"Sire,"  said  Yvonnet,  with  a  respect  and  grace  that 
would  have  done  honor  to  a  refined  coiirtier,  "I  beg  your 
Majesty  to  remember  that  I  have  not  fixed  any  price  on 
the  services  which  I  can  and  ought  to  render  to  you  as  your 
humble  and  obedient  subject;  it  was  my  lieutenant,  M.  de 
Theligny,  who  spoke  of  ten  crowns  of  -gold.  Your  Majesty 
being  unaware  most  certainly  of  the  association  existing  be- 
tween me  and  my  eight  comrades,  all  equally  in  the  service 


of  M.  1'Amiral,  I  thought  it  my  duty  to  mention  that,  while 
thinking  you  were  .giving  me  ten  crowns  of  gold,  you  were 
giving  me  five  only,  the  other  five  being  for  the  association. 
Now  that  your  Majesty  deigns  to  question  me,  I  am  ready 
to  answer,  and  that  without  there  being  any  question  of  five 
or  ten  or  twenty  crowns  of  gold;  but  purely  and  simply  on 
account  of  the  respect,  obedience,  and  devotion  I  owe  my 

And  the  adventurer  bowed  before  the  king  with  as  much 
dignity  as  if  he  had  been  the  ambassador  of  an  Italian  prince 
or  a  count  of  the  Holy  Empire. 

"Nothing  could  be  better!"  said  the  king;  "you  are 
quite  right,  Master  Yvonnet.  Let  us  not  reckon  before- 
hand and  you  will  find  yourself  not  the  worse  for  it." 

Yvonnet  smiled  in  a  fashion  which  meant,  "Oh,  I  know 
with  whom  I  am  dealing. ' ' 

But  as  all  these  little  delays  irritated  the  impatient  tem- 
per of  the  constable,  he  turned  again  to  the  young  man, 
and,  tapping  the  floor  with  his  foot,  said — 

"Look  here  now,  as  all  your  conditions  are  arranged, 
will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  tell  me  what  you  know  of  Saint- 
Quentin,  you  scoundrel?" 

Yvonnet  looked  at  the  constable,  and,  with  a  roguish 
expression  belonging  only  to  the  Parisian,  said — 

"  Saint- Quentin,  monseigneur?  Saint- Quentin  is  a  city 
situated  on  the  river  Somme,  six  leagues  from  Fe~re,  thirteen 
from  Laon,  and  thirty-four  from  Paris;  it  has  twenty  thou- 
sand inhabitants,  a  corporation  composed  of  twenty -five  mu- 
nicipal officers — namely,  a  mayor  in  office,  a  mayor  who  has 
just  held  office,  eleven  aldermen,  and  twelve  councillors; 
these  magistrates  elect  and  appoint  their  own  successors, 
which  they  select  among  the  bourgeois,  in  virtue  of  a  de- 
cree of  the  parliament  dated  the  16th  of  December,  1335, 
and  of  a  charter  of  King  Charles  VI.  dated  1412." 

"Ta,  ta,  ta!"  cried  the  constable,  "what  the  devil  is  that 
imp  of  misfortune  dinning  us  with  ?  I  ask  you  what  you 
know  of  Saint-Quentin,  beast?" 


"Well,  I  have  told  you  what  I  know,  and  I  can  guaran- 
tee to  you  the  correctness  of  my  information ;  I  have  it  from 
my  friend  Maldent,  who  is  a  native  of  Noyon,  and  spent 
three  years  in  Saint- Quentin  as  attorney's  clerk." 

"Hold,  sire,"  said  the  constable,  "believe  me,  we  shall 
get  nothing  out  of  this  knave,  until  we  have  him  on  a  good 
wooden  horse,  with  four  balls  of  twelve  pounds  tied  to 
each  leg." 

Y vonnet  remained  impassive. 

"I  am  not  precisely  of  your  opinion,  constable.  I  be- 
lieve we  shall  get  nothing  out  of  him,  as  long  as  we  try 
to  force  him  to  speak;  but  I  believe  we  shall  learn  all  we 
want  to  know  by  leaving  him  to  M.  de  Theligny.  If  he 
knows  what  he  has  told  us — just  the  things  he  could  not 
be  expected  to  know — you  may  be  sure  he  knows  some- 
thing else  besides.  Is  it  not  true,  Master  Yvonnet,  that  you 
have  studied  not  only  the  population,  geography,  and  con- 
stitution of  the  city  of  Saint- Quentin,  but  that  you  are  also 
acquainted  with  the  condition  of  its  ramparts  and  the  dispo- 
sition of  its  inhabitants?" 

' '  Should  my  lieutenant  wish  to  interrogate  me,  or  should 
the  king  do  me  the  honor  to  address  me  the  questions  to 
which  he  desires  an  answer,  I  shall  do  my  best  to  satisfy 
my  lieutenant  and  to  obey  the  king. ' ' 

' '  The  rascal  is  all  honey  now ! ' '  murmured  the  constable. 

"Come  now,  my  dear  Yvonnet, "  said  Theligny,  "prove 
to  his  Majesty  that  I  have  not  deceived  him  when  I  praised 
your  intelligence  so  highly,  and  describe  to  him,  as  well  as 
to  M.  le  Connetable,  the  condition  of  the  ramparts  at  the 
present  moment." 

Yvonnet  shook  his  head. 

' '  Would  not  one  imagine  that  the  knave  knows  all  about 
it!"  growled  the  constable. 

"Sire,"  replied  Yvonnet,  without  paying  any  attention 
to  the  sneer  of  Montmorency,  "I  have  the  honor  to  tell  your 
Majesty  that  the  city  of  Saint- Quentin,  ignorant  that  it  runs 
any  danger  whatever,  and  consequently  not  having  pre- 


pared  any  means  of  defence,  is  hardly  secure  from  a  sudden 
assault. ' ' 

"But  then,"   asked  the  king,    "has  it  not  ramparts?" 

"Yes,  undoubtedly,"  answered  Yvonnet  —  "ramparts 
strengthened  by  round  and  square  towers  connected  by 
curtains  with  two  bastions,  one  of  which  defends  the  sub- 
urb of  1'Isle;  but  the  boulevard  has  not  even  parapets,  and 
is  protected  only  by  a  fosse  dug  in  front.  Its  ground-plan, 
which  does  not  rise  above  the  surrounding  lands,  is  com- 
manded in  many  places  by  hills  in  the  neighborhood,  and 
even  by  houses  situated  on  the  border  of  the  exterior  fosse ; 
and  on  the  right  of  the  Guise  highway  and  the  gate  of  1'Isle, 
the  old  wall — it  is  the  name  of  the  rampart  at  that  point — 
is  so  low  that  a  man,  be  he  ever  so  inactive,  could  easily 
scale  it." 

"But,  you  scoundrel!"  cried  the  constable,  "if  you  are 
an  engineer,  you  should  say  so  at  once ! ' ' 

"I  am  not  an  engineer,  M.  le  Connetable. " 

"What  are  you,  then?" 

Yvonnet  lowered  his  eyes  with  affected  modesty. 

"Yvonnet  is  in  love,  monseigneur, "  said  Theligny;  "and 
to  reach  the  fair  enslaver  who  dwells  in  the  Faubourg  d'Isle, 
he  has  been  obliged  to  study  the  strong  and  weak  points  of 
the  walls. ' ' 

"Ah,"  murmured  the  constable,  "a  nice  reason  that, 

"Well,  then,  continue,"  said  the  king,  "and  I  shall  give 
you  a  fine  gold  cross  as  a  present  for  your  mistress  the  first 
time  you  see  her  on  your  return. ' ' 

' '  And  never  cross  of  gold  will  have  shone  on  a  lovelier 
neck  than  Grudule's.  I  may  say  so  with  confidence, 
sire. ' ' 

"And  now  this  base  villain  is  actually  making  the  por- 
trait of  his  mistress  for  us!"  said  the  constable. 

' '  And  why  not,  if  she  is  pretty,  my  cousin  ?  You  shall 
have  the  cross,  Yvonnet. ' ' 

"Thanks,  sire." 


"And  now  is  there  a  garrison,  at  least,  in  the  city  of 

"No,  M.  le  Connetable. " 

"No!"  cried  Montmorency,  "and  how  is  that?" 

"Because  the  city  is,  by  its  charter,  exempt  from  mili- 
tary occupation,  and  its  defence  is  confided  to  the  bourgeois 
themselves — a  right  they  hold  to  extremely. ' ' 

' '  The  bourgeoisie  and  their  rights  indeed !  Sire,  believe 
me,  things  can  never  go  well  as  long  as  the  bourgeoisie  and 
the  communes  claim  rights  nobody  knows  of  what  kind,  de- 
rived from  nobody  knows  whom ! ' ' 

' '  From  whom?  I  am  going  to  tell  you,  my  cousin,  from 
the  kings,  my  predecessors." 

"Well,  if  your  Majesty  will  only  intrust  me  with  the 
task  of  taking  back  all  these  rights  from  the  bourgeoisie, 
you  may  rely  on  it,  the  things  shall  be  done  quickly 
enough. ' ' 

"We  shall  take  thought  of  this  later  on,  my  dear  con- 
stable. The  Spaniards  require  all  our  attention  at  present. 
We  should  have  a  good  garrison  in  Saint-Quentin." 

' '  The  admiral  was  negotiating  for  that  very  purpose  at 
the  time  I  left,"  said  Theligny. 

"And  he  must  have  succeeded  by  this  time,"  said 
Yvonnet,  "considering  that  he  had  Maitre  Jean  Pauquet 
on  his  side." 

"Who  is  Maitre  Jean  Pauquet?"  demanded  the^king. 

"Gudule's  uncle,  sire,"  replied  Yvonnet,  with  an  accent 
that  was  not  exempt  from  a  certain  imbecility. 

"What,  you  knave!"  cried  the  constable,  "do  you  make 
love  to  a  magistrate's  niece?" 

"Jean  Pauquet  is  not  a  magistrate,  M.  le  Connetable," 
replied  Yvonnet. 

"And  what,  then,  is  this  Jean  Pauquet  of  3^ours?" 

' '  The  syndic  of  all  the  weavers. ' ' 

"Jesus!"  exclaimed  Montmorency,  "what  in  the  world 
are  we  coming  to!  Compelled  to  negotiate  with  a  syndic 
of  weavers,  when  it  is  the  king's  good  pleasure  to  place 


a  garrison  in  one  of  his  cities.  You  will  tell  your  Jean 
Pauquet  that  I  intend  to  have  him  hanged  if  he  does  not 
open,  not  only  the  gates  of  the  city,  but  the  doors  of  the 
houses  as  well,  to  whatever  men-at-arms  I  choose  to  send 

"I  think  it  would  be  quite  as  well  if  you  let  M.  1'Amiral 
manage  the  business,  M.  le  Connetable,"  said  Yvonnet, 
shaking  his  head;  "he  knows  better  than  you,  monseigneur, 
the  way  to  talk  to  people  like  Jean  Pauquet. ' ' 

' '  I  really  think  you  are  arguing  with  me, ' '  said  Mont- 
morency,  with  a  threatening  gesture. 

"Cousin,  Cousin,"  said  Henri,  "let  us,  pray,  finish  the 
business  we  have  begun  with  this  brave  fellow.  You  will 
have  it  in  your  power  to  judge  of  the  truth  of  his  state- 
ments, since  the  army  will  be  under  your  command,  and 
you  are  to  join  it  as  soon  as  possible.1' 

"Oh!"  said  Montmorency,  ltnot  later  than  to-morrow! 
I  am  in  a  hurry  to  bring  all  these  bourgeois  to  their  senses. 
A  syndic  of  weavers,  mordieu  !  a  fine  personage  to  negotiate 
with  an  admiral!  Peuh!" 

And  he  went  to  the  embrasure  of  one  of  the  windows 
and  began  gnawing  his  nails. 

"Now,"  asked  the  king,  "are  the  approaches  to  the  city 

"On  three  sides,  yes,  sire;  on  the  Faubourg  d'Isle  side, 
the  Kemicourt  side,  and  the  chapel  of  Epargnemaille  side; 
but  on  the  Tourival  side  it  is  necessary  to  cross  the  Gros- 
nard  marshes,  which  are  full  of  places  where  you  have  no 
chance  once  you  sink. ' ' 

The  constable  had  approached  to  listen  to  this  detail, 
which  interested  him. 

"In  case  of  need,  would  you  undertake,"  he  said,  "to 
guide  across  the  rnarsh  a  body  of  troops  that  could  enter 
or  leave  the  city?" 

"Doubtless;  but  I  have  already  told  M.  le  Connetable 
that  Mai  dent,  one  of  our  associates,  would  do  his  business 
better,  having  lived  three  years  in  Saint- Quentin,  while 


I  have  gone  there  only  at  night,  and  then  by  the  speediest 
route. ' ' 

"And  why  speediest?" 

"Because  when  I  am  alone  at  night,  I  am  afraid." 

"How!"  cried  Montmorency,  "you  are  afraid?" 

' '  Certainly,  I  am  afraid. ' ' 

"And  you  confess  it,  you  rascal?" 

"Why  not,  since  it  is  true?" 

"And  what  are  you  afraid  of?" 

"I  am  afraid  of  the  will-o'-the-wisps,  the  ghosts,  and  the 
loups-garoux. " 

The  constable  burst  out  laughing. 

"Ah,  you  are  afraid  of  the  will-o'-the-wisps,  the  ghosts, 
and  the  loups-garoux?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  am  horribly  nervous!" 

And  the  young  man  shivered. 

"Ah,  my  dear  Theligny,"  said  Montmorency,  "I  com- 
pliment you  on  your  squire!  I  am  warned;  I  don't  care 
to  have  him  for  a  night  guide." 

' '  In  fact,  it  would  be  better  to  employ  me  by  day. ' ' 

"And  leave  you  the  night  to  see  your  Grudule,  eh?" 

"You  see,  monseigneur,  that  my  visits  have  not  been 
useless,  and  the  king  thinks  as  much,  since  he  has  gra- 
ciously promised  me  a  cross. ' ' 

"M.  de  Montmorency,  let  forty  gold  crowns  be  given  to 
this  young  man  for  the  excellent  information  he  has  afforded 
us  and  the  service  he  has  offered  to  render.  You  will  add 
ten  crowns  besides  to  buy  a  cross  for  Mademoiselle  Gudule. ' ' 

The  constable  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Forty  crowns!"  he  grumbled;  " forty  lashes  of  a  whip ! 
forty  strokes  of  a  cane!  forty  blows  of  the  butt- end  of  a 
halberd  on  his  shoulders!" 

"You  hear  me,  cousin;  my  word  is  pledged.  Do  not 
make  me  break  my  word." 

Then  to  Theligny— 

"M.  de  Theligny,"  continued  the  king,  "the  constable 
will  give  orders  to  have  you  supplied  with  horses  from  my 


stables  at  the  Louvre  and  Compiegne,  so  that  you  may 
march  as  quickly  as  possible.  Do  not  be  afraid  of  laming 
them,  and  try  to  reach  La  Fere  before  to-morrow.  M.  de 
Chatillon  cannot  be  warned  too  soon  that  war  is  declared. 
A  good  journey,  monsieur,  and  good  luck!" 

The  lieutenant  and  his  squire  saluted  the  king  respect- 
fully and  followed  the  constable. 

Ten  minutes  afterward  they  were  galloping  on  the  road 
from  Paris,  and  the  constable  went  back  to  the  king,  who 
had  not  left  his  cabinet. 


HENRI  II.  was  waiting  for  the  constable,  in  order  to 
give  orders  of  the  highest  importance  without  any 

M.  de  Montgomery,  who  had,  some  years  before,  led 
French  troops  to  the  aid  of  the  regent  of  Scotland,  was 
sent  to  Edinburgh  to  ask  that,  in  pursuance  of  the  treaty 
signed  between  that  kingdom  and  France,  the  Scotch  should 
declare  war  on  England,  and  that  the  lords  composing  the 
council  of  the  regency  should  send  to  France  ambassadors 
empowered  to  conclude  the  marriage  between  the  young 
Queen  Mary  and  the  dauphin. 

At  the  same  time  an  instrument  was  drawn  up  with  the 
consent  of  the  Guises,  by  which  Mary  Stuart  transmitted 
to  the  King  of  France  her  realm  of  Scotland  and  all  the 
rights  she  had  or  might  have  over  that  of  England,  in  case 
she  died  without  male  heir. 

As  soon  as  the  marriage  was  celebrated,  Mary  Stuart 
was  to  take  the  title  of  Queen  of  France,  Scotland,  and 
England.  Meanwhile,  the  triple  arms  of  France,  Scotland, 


and  England  were  engraved  on  tlie  plate  of  the  young 

In  the  evening,  as  the  king  had  said,  there  was  a  splen- 
did fete  in  the  chateau  of  Saint-  Germain,  and  the  two 
heralds  on  their  return  to  their  respective  princes  might 
tell  in  what  joyous  fashion  declarations  of  war  were  received 
at  the  court  of  France. 

But  before  the  first  window  of  the  chateau  was  illumi- 
nated, two  cavaliers,  mounted  on  magnificent  steeds,  were 
galloping  out  of  the  courts  of  the  Louvre,  and,  after  gain- 
ing the  Barriere  de  la  Villette,  dashed  along  the  La  Fere 

At  Louvres,  they  stopped  a  moment  to  breathe  their 
horses,  which  they  changed  at  Compiegne,  as  had  been 
agreed  on;  after  which,  in  spite  of  the  advanced  hour  of 
the  night  and  their  want  of  rest,  they  resumed  their  journey 
and  started  at  a  gallop  for  La  F&re,  which  they  entered  at 
eight  in  the  morning. 

Nothing  fresh  had  occurred  since  the  departure  of 
Theligny  and  Yvonnet. 

Short  as  was  the  time  the  latter  had  spent  at  Paris,  he 
had  found  an  opportunity  to  renew  his  wardrobe  at  the  shop 
of  a  ready-made  clothier  of  his  acquaintance,  who  did  busi- 
ness in  the  Eue  Pretres  Saint-Germain  1'Auxerrois.  The 
jacket  and  maroon  breeches  had  then  given  place  to  doublet 
and  hose  of  green  velvet  embroidered  with  gold,  and  a 
cherry-colored  cap  adorned  with  a  white  plume.  A  sash 
of  the  same  color  as  the  cap  was  wrapped  round  him,  with 
the  ends  stuffed  into  boots  that  were  almost  irreproachable, 
armed  with  gigantic  copper  spurs.  If  his  new  garb  was  not 
quite  fresh,  it  had  at  least  been  so  little  worn  and  by  so 
careful  an  owner  that  only  persons  of  very  bad  taste  would 
make  any  uncalled  for  remarks  on  it  or  perceive  that  it 
came  from  a  ready-made  outfitter's,  and  not  from  a  tailor's 
workshop.  As  to  the  chain,  Yvonnet  concluded,  after  deep 
thought,  it  had  still  enough  gilding  on  it  to  deceive  those 
looking  at  it  from  a  distance  of  a  few  yards. 


It  was  his  lookout  to  see  that  they  had  no  nearer 

Let  us  hasten  to  add  that  the  gold  cross  had  been  con- 
scientiously purchased;  only  no  one  ever  knew  whether 
Yvonnet  had  employed  equally  conscientiously  the  whole 
of  the  ten  crowns  given  him  by  Henri  II.  for  that  purpose, 
in  making  the  purchase  for  the  niece  of  Jean  Pauquet. 

Our  belief  is  that  Yvonnet  had  clipped  enough  from  that 
cross  to  provide  himself,  not  only  with  the  doublet  and 
green  velvet  breeches,  the  cherry -colored  cap  and  white 
plume,  the  buffalo- leather  boots  and  copper  spurs,  but  also 
with  an  elegant  cuirass  placed  in  a  portmanteau  on  the  croup 
of  his  horse,  and  which  rattled  in  quite  a  warlike  fashion 
with  every  motion  of  the  horse. 

But  it  must  be  said  that,  as  all  this  had  for  aim  to  de- 
fend or  adorn  his  person,  and  as  his  person  belonged  to 
Mademoiselle  Gudule,  the  fact  that  Yvonnet  thus  used  the 
clippings  of  his  mistress's  cross  would  by  no  means  show 
that  the  money  of  King  Henri  II.  had  been  turned  from  its 

For  that  matter,  he  no  sooner  cleared  the  gate  of  La  Fere 
than  he  was  able  to  judge  of  the  effect  produced  by  his  new 
outfit.  Franz  and  Heinrich  Scharfenstein  were,  in  their 
capacity  as  purveyors  of  the  association,  busy  leading  to 
the  camp  an  ox  they  had  just  acquired;  and  with  that 
instinct  of  self-preservation  which  makes  animals  object 
to  being  butchered,  the  ox  was  refusing  to  proceed — as  far 
as  in  him  lay;  for  Heinrich  Scharfenstein  was  dragging  him 
by  a  horn,  while  Franz  was  pushing  him  behind. 

At  the  noise  of  the  horse's  hoofs  on  the  pavement,  Hein- 
rich raised  his  head,  and  recognizing  our  squire— 

"Oh,  Franz!"  he  cried,  "only  look  at  Meinherr  Yvonnet; 
isn't  he  beautiful?" 

And  in  his  admiration,  he  let  go  the  horn  of  the  ox, 
which,  profiting  by  his  liberty,  swung  round,  and  would 
have  regained  his  stall,  if  Franz,  who,  as  we  have  said,  was 
stationed  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  tail,  had  not  seized 


that  member,  and,  stiffening  all'  his  sinews,  brought  the 
animal  to  a  sudden  stand  by  his  herculean  strength. 

Yvonnet  sent  him  a  protecting  salute  with  his  hand,  and 
passed  on. 

They  arrived  at  Coligny's  quarters. 

The  young  lieutenant  was  recognized,  and  entered  the 
cabinet  of  the  admiral  at  once,  followed  by  Yvonnet,  who, 
with  his  habitual  tact  and  in  spite  of  the  change  wrought 
in  his  exterior,  remained  respectfully  at  the  door. 

M.  de  Chatillon,  leaning  over  one  of  those  imperfect 
maps  made  at  that  period,  was  trying  to  complete  it  by  the 
information  a  man  in  front  of  him,  with  cunning  features, 
pointed  nose,  and  intelligent  eyes,  was  giving  him. 

This  man  was  our  friend  the  Picard  Maldent,  who,  as 
Yvonnet  had  said,  having  been  an  attorney's  clerk  in  Saint- 
Quentin  for  three  years,  knew  the  city  arid  its  environs  as 
well  as  his  writing-desk. 

Coligny,  at  the  noise  made  by  Theligny  on  entering, 
raised  his  head,  and  recognized  his  messenger. 

Maldent  gently  turned  his  eyes  toward  the  door,  and 
recognized  Yvonnet. 

The  admiral  offered  his  hand  to  Theligny;  Maldent 
exchanged  a  look  with  Yvonnet,  who  drew  the  strings 
of  the  upper  orifice  of  a  purse  from  his  pocket  to  indicate 
that  his  journey  had  not  been  wholly  unprofitable. 

Theligny  gave  an  account  to  Coligny  in  a  few  words  of 
his  interview  with  the  king  and  M.  le  Connetable,  and 
handed  to  the  governor  of  Picardy  the  letters  of  his  uncle. 

"Yes,"  said  Coligny,  reading,  "my  opinion  has  been  the 
same  as  his:  Saint- Quentin  is,  in  fact,  the  city  to  be  guarded 
above  all.  So  your  company,  my  dear  Theligny,  has  gone 
there  yesterday.  You  will  join  to-day  even,  and  announce 
my  speedy  arrival. ' ' 

And,  absorbed  in  the  information  given  him  by  Maldent, 
he  bent  anew  over  the  map,  and  continued  his  annotations. 

Theligny  knew  the  admiral — a  man  of  deep  and  serious 
thought,  who  must  be  let  do  what  he  was  doing;  and  as, 


according  to  all  probability,  when  his  notes  were  finished, 
Coligny  would  have  further  orders  to  give  him  with  respect 
to  Saint- Quen tin,  the  lieutenant  approached  Yvonnet. 

"Go  and  wait  for  me  in  the  camp,"  he  whispered,  "I  will 
take  you  up  on  my  way,  when  I  have  received  the  final  in- 
structions of  M.  1'Amiral. " 

Yvonnet  bowed  silently  and  went  out.  He  found  his 
horse  at  the  door,  and  in  an  instant  was  outside  the  city. 

The  camp  of  Coligny,  placed  first  at  Pierrepont  near 
Marie,  had  been  afterward  transported  near  La  Fere.  Too 
weak  to  hold  his  ground  in  an  open  country  with  the  fifteen 
or  eighteen  hundred  men  he  commanded,  the  admiral,  fear- 
ing a  surprise,  had  gained  the  neighborhood  of  a  fortified 
city,  believing  that,  small  as  his  army  was,  it  could  make 
a  stand  behind  good  walls. 

The  line  of  the  camp  passed,  Yvonnet  stood  up  on  his 
spurs  to  try  if  he  could  recognize  any  of  his  companions, 
and  find  out  where  they  had  fixed  their  quarters. 

Soon  his  gaze  was  attracted  by  a  group,  in  the  middle 
of  which  was  a  man  who  looked  like  Procope,  seated  on 
a  stone  and  writing  on  one  knee. 

Procope  had  utilized  his  clerical  knowledge;  from  the 
moment  it  became  certain  that  the  enemy  would  be  soon  en- 
countered, he  was  busy  drawing  up  wills  at  five  sous  each. 

Yvonnet  understood  that  the  quondam  usher  was  like 
M.  de  Coligny,  and  did  not  fancy  being  disturbed  in  his 
grave  occupation. 

He  cast  another  look  around  him,  and  perceived  Franz 
and  Heinrich  Scharfenstein,  who,  having  given  up  the  de- 
sign of  leading  their  ox  to  the  camp,  had  tied  its  legs  to- 
gether, and  were  carrying  it  thither,  with  the  help  of  the 
pole  of  a  carriage,  the  extremities  of  which  rested  on  each 
of  their  shoulders. 

A  man  who  was  no  other  than  Pilletrousse  was  making 
signs  to  them  at  the  door  of  a  tent  in  rather  good  condition. 

Yvonnet  recognized  the  domicile  in  which  he  had  the 
right  to  a  ninth  part,  and  in  a  few  seconds  was  beside  Pil- 


letrousse,  who,  before  giving  any  sign  of  welcome  to  his 
companion,  walked  round  him  once,  then  twice,  then  for 
the  third  time,  Yvonrtet,  like  the  cavalier  of  an  equestrian 
statue,  looking  on  with  a  smile  of  satisfaction  as  his  com- 
panion accomplished  this  circumambulation. 

After  the  third  turn,  Pilletrousse  halted,  and  with  a 
clacking  of  the  tongue  to  denote  his  admiration — 

"Peste!"  said  he,  "that  is  a  pretty  horse,  and  well  worth 
forty  gold  crowns.  Where  the  devil  did  you  steal  it  ?" 

"Hush!"  said  Yvonnet,  "speak  with  respect  of  the  ani- 
mal; he  comes  from  his  Majesty's  stables,  and  only  belongs 
to  me  as  a  loan. ' ' 

"That's  rather  annoying,"  said  Pilletrousse. 

"And  why  so?" 

"Because  I  had  a  purchaser. " 

"Ah!"  returned  Yvonnet,  "and  who  was  your  pur- 

"I,"  said  a  voice  behind  Yvonnet. 

Yvonnet  turned  round  and  cast  a  quick  glance  upon  the 
person  presenting  himself  with  this  haughty  monosyllable, 
which  was  to  make  the  success  of  the  tragedy  of  "Medea," 
a  hundred  years  later. 

The  bidder  for  the  horse  was  a  young  man  of  from 
twenty-three  to  twenty-four  years,  half  armed,  half  un- 
armed, as  was  the  fashion  with  men  of  war  when  in  cam]). 

Yvonnet  needed  only  to  let  his  eyes  fall  on  those  square 
shoulders,  on  that  head  framed  in  a  red  beard  and  red  hair, 
on  those  clear  blue  eyes  full  of  obstinacy  and  ferocity,  to 
recognize  the  speaker. 

"You  have  just  heard  my  answer,"  he  replied.  "The 
horse,  in  reality,  belongs  to  his  Majesty  the  King  of  France, 
who  has  had  the  goodness  to  lend  it  to  me  for  my  return  to 
the  camp;  if  he  claims  it,  I  must  of  course  give  it  back 
to  him;  if  he  leaves  it  with  me,  it  is  at  your  disposal,  the 
price,  it  is  unnecessary  to  say,  being  discussed  and  arranged 
beforehand  between  us. ' ' 

"I  admit  the  justice  of  what  you  say,"  replied  the  gen- 


tleman;  "keep  it  for  me,  then.  I  am  rich,  and  disposed  to 
be  liberal." 

Yvonnet  saluted. 

"Besides,"  continued  the  gentleman,  "it  is  not  the 
only  affair  concerning  which  I  should  wish  to  treat  with 

Yvonnet  and  Pilletrousse  saluted  together. 

"What  is  the  number  of  your  band ?" 

"Of  our  troop,  you  mean,  monsieur,"  retorted  Yvonnet, 
a  little  hurt  by  the  epithet. 

"Of  your  troop,  if  you  like  it  better.11 

"Unless  in  my  absence  some  of  my  comrades  have  been 
unfortunate, 1 '  answered  Yvonnet,  with  a  questioning  glance 
at  Pilletrousse,  "there  ought  to  be  nine." 

A  look  of  Pilletrousse  reassured  Yvonnet,  even  suppos- 
ing that  he  was  really  anxious  on  the  subject. 

"And  all  brave  ?"  asked  the  gentleman. 

Yvonnet  smiled;  Pilletrousse  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"The  fact  is,  you  have  a  pretty  sample  there,"  said  the 
gentleman,  pointing  to  Franz  and  Heinrich,  "if  these  two 
are  members  of  your  troop." 

"They  are,"  replied  Pilletrousse,  laconically. 

"Then  we  can  treat — " 

"Pardon,"  said  Yvonnet;  "but  we  belong  to  M. 

"Except  on  two  days  of  the  week,  when  we  can  work 
on  our  own  account,"  observed  Pilletrousse.  "Procope, 
foreseeing  the  two  cases,  introduced  these  clauses  into  the 
agreement:  first,  when  we  have  some  enterprise  to  under- 
take on  our  own  behalf;  second,  when  some  honorable  gen- 
tleman makes  us  a  proposal  of  the  kind  the  gentleman  here 
present  seems  disposed  to  make. ' ' 

"I  only  want  you  for  a  single  day  or  for  a  single  night; 
so  nothing  could  be  better.  Now,  in  case  of  need,  where 
shall  I  find  you  ?" 

"At  Saint- Quentin,  probably,"  said  Yvonnet;  "I  know 
that  I  shall  be  there  in  person  this  very  day. ' ' 


"And  two  of  us,"  continued  Procope,  "Lactance  and 
Malemort,  are  there  already.  As  to  the  rest  of  the  troop— 

"As  to  the  rest  of  the  troop,"  interrupted  Yvonnet, 
"they  are  sure  to  follow  us  there,  as,  from  what  I  heard 
M.  1'Amiral  say,  he  will  be  there  himself  in  two  or  three 

"Well,"  said  the  gentleman,  "at  Saint- Quentin,  my 
braves ! ' ' 

' '  At  Saint-  Quentin, ,  mon  sieur. ' ' 

The  latter  made  a  slight  motion  of  the  head  and  retired. 

Yvonnet  followed  him  with  his  eyes  until  he  was  lost  in 
the  crowd;  then,  calling  a  vagabond  who  attended  to  the 
wants  of  the  associates,  and  received  therefor  his  temporal 
and  spiritual  nourishment,  he  threw  him  the  reins  of  his 

The  first  intention  of  Yvonnet  had  been  to  approach  Pil- 
letrousse,  and  make  him  a  confidant  of  his  reminiscences  in 
connection  with  the  unknown;  but,  doubtless  considering 
him  of  too  material  an  organization  for  the  reception  of  a 
secret  of  such  importance,  he  drove  back  the  words  which 
were  already  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue,  and  appeared  to  be 
giving  his  attention  wholly  to  the  work  Franz  and  Heinrich 
were  accomplishing. 

Heinrich  and  Franz,  after  having,  as  we  have  said,  with 
the  help  of  the  carriage-pole,  which  they  had  passed  between 
the  four  legs,  brought  their  recalcitrant  ox  up  to  the  middle 
of  the  camp  even,  had  deposited  him  in  front  of  their  tent. 

Then  Heinrich  entered  the  tent  to  fetch  his  mace,  which 
he  had  some  difficulty  in  finding,  Fracasso,  seized  with  a  fit 
of  poetic  inspiration,  having  thrown  himself  on  a  mattress, 
in  order  to  dream  at  his  ease,  and  having  made  of  this  mace 
a  pillow  to  support  his  head. 

This  mace,  simple  in  form  and  humble  in  material,  was 
merely  a  ball  twelve  pounds  in  weight  fitted  to  an  iron  bar; 
it  was,  with  a  gigantic  two-handed  sword,  the  usual  weapon 
of  the  two  Scharfensteins. 

Heinrich  at  last  found  it,  and,  in  spite  of  the  groans  of 


Fracasso,  whom  he  came  on  in  the  full  fire  of  composition, 
he  dragged  it  from  under  his  head,  and  returned  to  join 
Franz,  who  was  waiting  for  him. 

Hardly  had  Franz  untied  the  forelegs  of  the  ox,  when 
the  animal  made  a  sudden  effort  and  half  rose.  This  was 
Heinrich's  opportunity;  he  raised  the  iron  mace  until,  bend- 
ing backward,  it  touched  his  loins,  and,  with  all  his  strength, 
struck  it  between  the  two  horns  of  the  ox. 

The  animal,  which  had  begun  to  bellow,  stopped,  and 
fell  as  if  thunderstruck. 

Pilletrousse,  who,  with  naming  eyes  and  like  a  dog  in 
leash,  was  only  awaiting  the  moment,  rushed  upon  the 
prostrate  animal  and  opened  the  artery  of  the  neck.  After 
which,  he  clove  him  from  the  lower  lip  to  the  opposite 
extremity,  and  proceeded  to  cut  him  up. 

Pilletrousse  was  the  butcher  of  the  association;  Heinrich 
and  Franz,  the  purveyors,  bought  and  killed  the  animal, 
whatever  it  might  be.  Pilletrousse  flayed  it,  divided  it, 
and  laid  apart  the  best  pieces  for  the  association ;  in  a  sort 
of  stall  at  some  distance  from  the  common  tent,  adorned 
with  all  the  art  of  which  he  was  a  master,  the  different 
pieces  of  which  he  wished  to  get  rid.  Now,  Pilletrousse 
was  so  adroit  a  carver,  and  so  clever  a  merchant,  that  it 
rarely  happened  but,  during  the  two  or  three  days  of  the 
sale,  he  drew  from  this  part  of  the  animal  a  few  crowns 
more  than  it  cost. 

All  this  was  to  the  profit  of  the  association,  which,  as 
may  be  seen,  could  not  fare  badly  as  long  as  it  was  seconded 
by  each  of  its  members  as  it  was  by  such  of  its  members  as 
we  have  passed  in  review. 

The  cutting  up  was  over,  and  the  public  sale  was  com- ' 
mencing,  when  a  cavalier  made  his  appearance  in  the  midst 
of  the  crowd  which  thronged  around  the  stall  of  Maitre 
Pilletrousse,  and  which  was  buying— each  according  to  his 
means — everything  from  the  fillet  to  the  tripes. 

This  cavalier  was  Theligny,  who,  having  been  furnished 
with  letters  from  the  admiral  for  the  mayor,  the  governor 


of  the  city,  and  Jean  Pauquet,  syndic  of  the  weavers,  was 
come  in  search  of  his  squire  Yvonnet. 

He  also  brought  news  that  as  soon  as  M.  de  Coligny  had 
assembled  the  troops  expected  by  him,  and  had  spoken  with 
his  uncle,  M.  le  Connetable,  he  would  set  out  with  live  or 
six  hundred  men  for  Saint- Quentin. 

Maldent,  Procope,  Fracasso,  Pilletrousse,  and  the  two 
Scharfensteins  would  form  part  of  the  garrison,  and  would 
join  Malemort  and  Lactance  in  the  city,  who  were  there 
already,  and -Yvonnet,  who,  as  he  would  start  with  M.  de 
Theligny,  would  be  there  in  two  or  three  hours. 

The  adieus  were  short,  Fracasso  not  having  yet  finished 
his  sonnet,  and  seeking  a  rhyme  for  the  verb  perdre,  which 
he  could  not  find;  the  two  Scharfensteins,  while  very  fond 
of  Yvonnet,  being  of  a  very  undemonstrative  nature;  and, 
in  fine,  Pilletrousse  contenting  himself  with  saying  to  the 
young  man,  with  a  grasp  of  the  hand,  so  busy  was  he  with 
his  sale — 

"Try  to  keep  the  horse!" 



AS  YVONNET  had  said  to  M.  le  Connetable,  it  is  six 
leagues  from  La  Fere  to  Saint- Quentin. 
The  horses  had  already  made  a  long  journey  the 
night  before,  and  that  without  any  other  halt  than  an  hour 
spent  at  Noyon. 

They  had  now  had  a  rest  of  two  hours,  it  is  true;  still, 
as  there  was  no  occasion  to  hurry,  except  the  desire  of 
Yvonnet  to  see  Ghidule  again,  they  spent_nearly  three  hours 
in  making  the  six  leagues  that  separated  them  from  the 
term  of  their  ride. 

At  last,  after  clearing  the  exterior  boulevard,  after  leav- 
ing on  the  right  the  Guise  highway,  which  bifurcates  a 


hundred  yards  from  the  old  wall,  after,  making  themselves 
known  at  the  gate  and  plunging  under  the  vault  beneath 
the  rampart,  the  two  cavaliers  found  themselves  in  the 
Faubourg  d'Isle. 

"Monsieur,  will  you  be  kind  enough  to  give  me  leave 
for  ten  minutes,"  asked  Yvonnet,  "or  would  you  like,  by 
turning  aside  a  few  steps,  to  get  some  news  of  what  is 
passing  in  the  city?" 

"Ah,  ah!"  laughed  Theligny,  "it  would  appear  we  are 
in  the  neighborhood  of  Mademoiselle  Gudule's  dwelling?" 

' '  You  are  right,  monsieur, ' '  said  Yvonnet. 

"Is  there  any  indiscretion  in — ?"  asked  Theligny. 

"Not  the  least  in  the  world, "  answered  Yvonnet.  "In 
the  daytime,  I  am  a  mere  acquaintance  of  Mademoiselle 
Grudule,  exchanging  a  word  and  a  salute  with  her.  It  has 
always  been  my  principle  not  to  do  anything  to  injure  the 
future  prospects  of  fair  young  girls. ' ' 

And  turning  to  the  right,  he  advanced  into  a  little  lane, 
bordered  on  one  side  by  a  long  garden  wall,  and  on  the 
other  by  several  houses,  one  of  which  was  pierced  by  a 
window  entirely  framed  in  creeping  plants. 

Rising  on  his  spurs,  Yvonnet  reached  exactly  to  the 
window,  beneath  which  stood  a  pillar,  calculated  to  give 
pedestrians  the  same  advantage,  for  love  or  business,  which 
Yvonnet  derived  from  being  on  horseback. 

The  moment  he  arrived,  the  window  was  opened  as  if  by 
magic,  and  a  charming  face,  all  rosy  with  delight,  appeared 
in  the  midst  of  the  flowers. 

"Ah,  it  is  you,  Gudule!"  said  Yvonnet;  "how  did  you 
guess  my  arrival  ?" 

"I  did  not  guess  it;  I  was  at  my  other  window  that  looks 
upon  the  road  to  La  Fere.  I  saw  two  horsemen  in  the  dis- 
tance, and  although  it  never  occurred  to  me  that  you  might 
be  one  of  them,  I  could  not  keep  my  eyes  off  these  travel- 
lers. When  you  came  to  a  certain  point  I  recognized  you. 
Then  I  ran  here,  all  trembling  with  fear,  for  I  dreaded 
you  might  pass  without  stopping — first,  because  you  were 


not  alone,  and  next,  because  you  are  so  handsome  I  feared 
you  might  have  reached  such  fortune  that  you  would  think 
of  me  no  longer. ' ' 

"The  person  I  have  the  honor  to  accompany,  my  dear 
Gudule,  and  who  has  given  me  permission  to  converse 
with  yon  a  moment,  is  M.  de  Theligny,  my  lieutenant;  he 
will  soon  have  some  questions  to  put  to  you,  as  well  as  I, 
on  the  state  of  the  city." 

Gudule  cast  a  timid  glance  upon  the  lieutenant,  who 
made  a  gentle  inclination  to  her,  to  which  the  young  girl 
replied  by  a  "God  preserve  you,  monseigneur!"  uttered 
with  much  emotion. 

"As  to  the  costume  in  which  you  see  me,  Gudule,"  con- 
tinued Yvonnet,  "it  is  the  result  of  the  king's  liberality, 
who  has  even,  on  learning  that  I  had  the  happiness  to  know 
you,  deigned  to  charge  me  to  present  you,  in  his  name,  with 
this  fine  gold  cross." 

And,  at  the  same  time,  he  drew  the  cross  from  his 
pocket,  and  offered  it  to  Gudule,  who,  hesitating  to  accept 
it,  cried — 

"What  are  you  talking  about,  Yvonnet?  and  why  do 
you  make  sport  of  a  poor  girl?" 

"I  do  not  make  sport  of  you  in  any  way,  Gudule,  and 
here  is  my  lieutenant,  who  will  tell  you  that  what  I  affirm 
is  the  truth. ' ' 

"In  fact,"  said  Theligny,  "I  was  present,  my  fair  child, 
when  the  king  charged  Yvonnet  to  make  this  present. ' ' 

"You  are  acquainted  with  the  king,  then?"  asked  Gu- 
dule, quite  astounded. 

"Since  yesterday,  and  since  yesterday  the  king  is  ac- 
quainted with  you,  Gudule,  as  well  as  with  your  worthy 
uncle,  Jean  Pauquet,  for  whom  my  lieutenant  has  a  letter 
fromM.  1'Amiral." 

The  lieutenant  made  a  further  sign  of  assent;  and  Gu- 
dule, who,  as  we  have  said,  at  first  hesitated,  now  passed 
her  trembling  hand  through  the  flowers — a  hand  which 
Yvonnet  kissed  as  he  placed  the  cross  in  it. 


Theligny,  approaching,  then  said — 

"And  now,  iny  dear  M.  Yvonnet,  will  you  please  ask 
Gudule  where  her  uncle  is,  and  in  what  disposition  we  are 
likely  to  find  him?" 

' '  My  uncle  is  at  the  Town  Hall,  monseigneur, ' '  said  Gu- 
dule,  who  could  hardly  keep  her  eyes  away  from  the  cross, 
"and  I  think  well  disposed  to  defend  the  city." 

' '  Thanks,  my  fair  child.     Come  away,  Yvonnet. ' ' 

Gudule  made  a  little  sign  of  entreaty,  and  blushing  up  to 
the  whites  of  her  eyes — 

"Then,  monseigneur,"  said  she,  "if  my  father  asks  me 
where  this  cross  came  from—" 

"You  may  tell  him  it  comes  from  his  Majesty,"  returned 
the  young  officer,  smiling,  who  understood  the  alarm  of  Gu- 
dule;  "that  it  has  been  given  by  the  king  in  recognition  of 
the  good  services  which  your  uncle  Jean  and  your  father 
Guillaume  have  rendered  him  and  are  still  likely  to  render 
him.  In  fine,  if  you  do  not  wish — as  is  very  possible — to 
name  M.  Yvonnet,  you  will  add  that  it  is  I,  Theligny,  lieu- 
tenant in  the  company  of  the  dauphin,  who  have  brought 
you  this  cross." 

"Oh,  thanks,  thanks!"  all  joyous,  and  clapping  her 
hands  together;  "but  for  this,  I  would  never  dare  to 
wear  it." 

Then  in  quick  low  tones  to  Yvonnet — 

"When  shall  I  see  you  again?"  she  asked. 

"When  I  was  three  or  four  leagues  from  you,  Gudule, 
you  saw  me  every  night,"  replied  Yvonnet;  "judge  how 
often  you  must  see  me  when  I  am  living  in  the  same  city. ' ' 

"Hush!"  said  Gudule. 

Then  lower  still — 

"Come  early,"  she  said;  "I  think  my  father  will  pass 
the  whole  night  at  the  Town  Hall. ' ' 

She  withdrew  her  head,  and  disappeared  behind  the 
curtain  of  verdure  and  flowers. 

The  young  men  followed  the  causeway  between  the 
Somme  and  the  fountain  La  Ferree.  Half-way  on  the  route, 

(12)— -Vol.  20 


they  turned  from  the  abbey  and  church  of  Saint- Quentin- 
en-Isle,  and  crossed  the  first  bridge,  which  led  to  the  chapel 
in  which  the  relics  of  the  holy  martyr  were  to  be  discovered, 
then  a  second  bridge,  which  brought  them  to  the  strait  of 
Saint- Pierre,  and  at  last  a  third  bridge  which,  after  it  was 
cleared,  placed  them  in  front  of  the  two  towers  flanking  the 
gate  of  Isle. 

The  gate  was  guarded  by  a  soldier  of  Theligny's  regi- 
ment and  by  a  bourgeois  of  the  city. 

This  time  Theligny  had  no  trouble  in  getting  himself 
recognized;  i-t  was  the  soldier  who  came  to  him  to  ask  him 
for  news.  People  were  saying  that  the  enemy  was  very 
near;  and  this  little  company  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  men 
found  itself  somewhat  isolated  in  the  midst  of  all  these 
bourgeois  who  were  running  right  and  left,  frightened  out 
of  their  wits,  and  who  were  losing  their  time  in  discussions 
at  the  meetings  in  the  Town  Hall — meetings  at  which  there 
was  indeed  much  discussion,  but  very  little  action. 

Besides  this,  Saint- Quentin  seemed  to  be  a  prey  to  fright- 
ful disorder.  The  principal  artery — which  cuts  the  city  for 
two-thirds  of  its  length,  and  into  which,  like  the  affluents 
of  a  great  river,  ran,  on  the  right,  the  Eue  Wager,  the  Eue 
des  Cordeliers,  the  Rue  d'Issenghien,  the  Rue  des  Ligniers, 
and  on  the  left,  the  Rue  des  Corbeaux,  the  Rue  de  la  Truie- 
qui-file  and  the  Rue  des  Brebis — was  thronged  with  people; 
and  this  multitude,  become  denser  still  on  the  Rue  de  la 
Sellerie,  was  packed  so  close  on  the  great  square  that,  as 
far  as  our  cavaliers  were  concerned,  it  was  like  a  wall 
almost  impossible  to  break  through. 

Still,  when  Yvonnet  placed  his  cap  on  the  end  of  his 
sword,  and  standing  in  his  stirrups,  shouted,  "Make  way! 
make  way  for  the  people  of  M.  1'Amiral!"  the  crowd, 
hoping  they  were  coming  to  announce  a  reinforcement, 
made  such  violent  efforts  to  open  a  path  that  at  last  the 
two  cavaliers  were  able  to  start  from  the  church  of  Saint- 
Jacques  and  reach  the  steps  of  the  Town  Hall,  at  the  top 
of  which  was  the  mayor,  Messire  Yarlet  de  Gibercourt. 


They  had  arrived  at  an  opportune  moment.  A  meeting 
had  just  been  held;  and,  thanks  to  the  patriotism  of  the 
inhabitants,  roused  to  fury  by  the  eloquence  of  Maitre  Jean 
Pauquet  and  his  brother  Gruillaume,  it  had  been  unani- 
mously resolved  that  the  city  of  Saint- Quentin,  faithful  to 
its  king  and  relying  on  its  holy  patron,  would  defend  itself 
to  the  last  extremity. 

The  news  brought  by  Theligny,  that  the  admiral  was 
approaching  with  a  reinforcement,  raised  the  enthusiasm 
to  the  very  highest  pitch. 

The  citizens,  at  the  very  moment  and  without  leaving 
the  spot,  organized  themselves  into  companies  which  named 
their  own  leaders.  Each  company  contained  fifty  men. 

The  mayor  opened  the  arsenal  of  the  Town  Hall;  un- 
fortunately it  was  very  poorly  furnished.  Only  fifteen 
cannon  were  found  in  it,  some  in  a  very  bad  condition, 
and  fifteen  ordinary  arquebuses  and  twenty- one  arquebuses 
a  croc  ;  but  there  was  quite  an  abundance  of  halberds  and 

Jean  Pauquet  was  named  captain  of  one  of  those  com- 
panies, and  Guillaume,  his  brother,  lieutenant  in  another. 
So  we  see  that  honors  were  raining  on  this  family,  but  these 
honors  were  dangerous. 

The  sum  total  of  the  troops  consisted  then  of  a  hundred 
and  twenty  or  a  hundred  and  thirty  men  of  the  Dauphin's 
Company,  commanded  by  Theligny;  a  hundred  men  or 
thereabout,  of  the  company  of  M.  de  Breuil,  governor  of 
Saint-  Quentin,  which  arrived  eight  days  ago  from  Abbeville, 
and  two  hundred  bourgeois  organized  into  four  companies 
of  fifty  men  each.  Three  of  these  companies  were  com- 
posed of  arbaletriers,  pikemen,  and  halberdiers;  the  fourth 
was  armed  with  arquebuses. 

Suddenly  a  fifth  was  seen  to  appear,  which  was  not  ex- 
pected, and,  because  of  its  unexpected  appearance  and  the 
elements  forming  it,  created  boundless  enthusiasm. 

It  arrived  by  the  Eue  Croix- Belle- Porte,  and  consisted 
of  a  hundred  Jacobin  monks,  all  carrying  pikes  or  halberds. 


A  man,  covered  with  a  robe,  under  which  might  be  seen 
a  coat  of  mail,  led  them,  with  a  naked  sword  in  his  hand. 

Hearing  the  shouts  raised  as  they  passed,  Yvonnet  turned 
round,  and,  looking  attentively  at  their  captain,  "May  the 
devil  burn  me,"  he  said,  "if  it  is  not  Lactance!" 

In  fact,  it  was  Lactance.  Foreseeing  that  a  tough  strug- 
gle was  in  prospect,  he  had  retired  among  the  Jacobins  of 
the  Rue  des  hosiers,  in  order  to  do  penance,  and  put  him- 
self, as  far  as  possible,  in  a  state  of  grace.  The  good  fathers 
received  him  with  open  arms,  and  Lactance,  although  wholly 
devoted  to  the  task  of  confessing  and  communicating,  still 
remarked  their  patriotism,  and  thought  it  would  not  be 
a  bad  thing  to  utilize  it.  As  a  result  of  his  cogitations,  he 
imparted  to  them,  as  an  inspiration  from  heaven,  the  idea 
that  came  to  him  of  forming  them  into  a  military  company; 
the  proposal  was  favorably  received.  The  prior  consented 
to  take  an  hour  from  Matins,  and  half  an  hour  from  Ves- 
pers, and  devote  the  time  to  drilling;  and,  at  the  end  of 
three  days,  Lactance,  judging  the  monks  sufficiently  prac- 
ticed in  military  manoeuvres,  had  drawn  them  from  the 
convent,  and,  as  we  have  said,  had  led  them  to  the  square 
of  the  Town  Hall,  amid  the  acclamations  of  the  multi- 

Saint- Quentin  could  therefore  reckon,  for  the  moment, 
on  a  hundred  and  twenty  men  of  the  Dauphin's  Company, 
on  a  hundred  men  of  the  company  of  the  governor  of  the 
city,  on  two  hundred  bourgeois,  and  a  hundred  Jacobin 
monks — in  all,  five  hundred  and  twenty  combatants. 

Hardly  had  the  mayor,  governor,  and  the  other  magis- 
trates of  the  city  inspected  their  forces,  when  loud  cries  rose 
from  the  ramparts,  and  people  were  seen  arriving  along  the 
Rue  de  1'Orfeverie  and  the  Rue  Saint- Andre,  who  were 
lifting  their  arms  to  heaven  in  a  despairing  fashion. 

After  numberless  inquiries  and  questions,  it  was  learned 
that  an  immense  number  of  peasants  had  been  seen  running 
along  the  plain  which  stretches  from  Homblieres  to  Mesnil- 
Saint-Laurent,  pushing  through  the  harvest  fields,  and  ex- 


tdbiting,  as  far  as  could  be  judged  at  the  distance  they  were 
still  from  the  city,  undoubted  evidences  of  terror. 

That  very  moment  the  gates  were  ordered  to  be  closed, 
and  the  ramparts  manned. 

Lactance,  who,  in  the  thick  of  dangers,  always  preserved 
the  coolness  of  a  true  Christian,  immediately  ordered  his 
Jacobins  to  harness  themselves  to  the  cannon,  and  plant 
eight  of  them  on  the  wall  extending  from  the  gate  of  Isle 
to  the  tower  of  Dameuse,  two  on  the  wall  of  the  Vieux- 
Marche,  three  on  the  wall  between  the  Grrosse  Tour  and 
the  postern  of  the  Petit  Pont,  and  two  on  the  old  wall 
at  the  Faubourg  d'Isle. 

Theligny  and  Yvonnet,  who  were  on  horseback,  and 
who  felt  that,  in  spite  of  their  terrible  ride  of  the  evening 
before,  their  steeds  were  still  sound  in  wind  and  limb,  issued 
forth  through  the  Eemicourt  gate,  forded  the  river,  and 
dashed  across  the  plain  to  learn  what  was  the  cause  of  the 
flight  of  all  these  people. 

The  first  individual  they  met  was  supporting  his  nose 
and  a  part  of  his  cheek  with  his  right  hand,  trying,  as  well 
as  he  could,  to  keep  these  two  precious  objects  in  their 
place,  and,  at  the  same  time,  making  eager  signs  with  his 
right  to  Yvonnet. 

Yvonnet  rode  toward  him,  and  recognized  Malemort. 

"Ah!"  howled  the  latter,  with  all  the  strength  of  his 
lungs,  "to  arms!  to  arms!" 

Yvonnet  redoubled  his  pace,  and,  seeing  his  comrade 
streaming  with  blood,  he  jumped  to  the  ground,  and  ex- 
amined his  wound. 

It  would  have  been  terrible  from  the  ravages  it  would 
have  made  on  a  virgin  countenance;  but  the  face  of  Male- 
mort had  been  so  terribly  carved  already  that  a  gash  more 
or  less  did  not  count. 

Yvonnet  made  four  folds  of  his  handkerchief,  with  a  hole 
in  the  centre  to  give  passage  to  the  nose  of  Malemort; 
then,  having  laid  the  patient  on  the  ground  and  placed  the 
wounded  head  on  his  knee,  he  bandaged  the  face  so  lightly 


and  so  adroitly  that  the  ablest  surgeon  could  not  have  done 

During  this  time  Theligny  was  picking  up  information. 
This  is  what  had  happened: 

In  the  morning  the  enemy  appeared  in  sight  of  Origny- 
Sainte-Benoite.  Malemort,  who  happened  to  be  there,  hav- 
ing, with  his  usual  instinct,  scented  that  there  would  be 
a  good  many  blows  struck  in  that  quarter,  had  excited  the 
inhabitants  to  resistance.  They  had  consequently  retired 
into  the  castle  with  all  the  arms  and  war  supplies  they 
could  gather.  There  they  held  out  for  nearly  four  hours. 
But  the  castle,  being  attacked  by  the  whole  van  of  the 
Spanish  army,  was  carried  by  assault.  Malemort  did  won- 
ders; however,  it  became  at  last  necessary  to  retreat. 
Pressed  too  closely  by  three  or  four  Spaniards,  he  stabbed 
one,  knocked  down  another;  but  while  he  was  attacking 
the  third,  the  fourth  struck  at  his  face  sidewise,  making  an 
awful  gash  a  little  below  the  eyes.  Malemort,  understand- 
ing how  impossible  it  was  to  defend  himself  with  a  wound 
that  blinded  him,  gave  a  loud  cry,  and  fell  backward,  as 
if  he  had  been  suddenly  killed.  The  Spaniards  searched 
him,  and  took  three  or  four  sous  parisis,  which  he  happened 
to  have  about  him,  and  went  back  to  their  companions, 
who  were  engaged  in  a  more  profitable  kind  of  plundering. 
Thereupon  Malemort  rose,  set  back  his  nose  and  cheek  in 
their  natural  places,  did  his  best  to  keep  them  there  with  his 
hand,  and  directed  his  course  to  the  city  to  give  the  alarm. 

And  this  was  why  Malemort,  ordinarily  the  first  to  attack 
and  the  last  to  retreat,  found  himself  this  time,  contrary  to 
all  his  habits,  at  the  head  of  the  fugitives. 

Theligny  and  YVonnet  had  learned  all  they  wanted  to 
learn.  Yvonnet  took  Malemort  up  behind  him,  and  all 
three  entered  the  city,  crying,  "To  arms!" 

The  entire  city  was  awaiting  their  return.  In  an  instant 
it  was  known  that  the  enemy  was  only  four  or  five  leagues 
distant;  but  such  was  the  resolution  of  the  inhabitants  that 
this  news,  so  far  from  depressing,  stimulated  them. 


Luckily,  among  the  men  brought  by  M.  de  Breuil  were 
found  fifty  gunners ;  to  them  were  assigned  the  fifteen  can- 
non drawn  by  the  Jacobin  brothers  to  the  ramparts.  Three 
attendants  were  required  for  each;  the  monks  offered  to 
complete  the  batteries,  and  were  accepted.  After  an  hour's 
practice,  a  spectator  would  have  fancied  they  had  never 
done  anything  else  in  their  lives. 

It  was  time,  for  at  the  end  of  an  hour  the  first  Spanish 
columns  came  in  sight. 

The  Town  Council  resolved  to  send  a  courier  to  the 
admiral  to  warn  him  of  the  situation;  but  no  one  wished 
to  leave  the  city  at  the  moment  of  danger. 

Yvonnet  proposed  Malemort. 

Malemort  uttered  loud  cries:  since  his  wound  was  at- 
tended to,  he  felt,  he  said,  much  livelier  than  ever  before; 
it  was  fifteen  months  since  he  had  a  real  good  fight.  The 
blood  was  choking  him,  and  the  little  he  had  lost  was  a 
great  relief  to  him. 

But  Yvonnet  observed  to  him  that  he  would  have  a 
horse;  that  he  would  be  allowed  to  keep  this  horse;  that 
in  two  or  three  days  he  would  return  in  the  suite  of  Coligny, 
and  that,  thanks  to  this  horse,  he  would  be  able,  during  the 
sorties  that  would  take  place,  to  advance  further  than  if  he 
was  on  foot. 

This  last  consideration  decided  Malemort. 

We  may  add  that,  in  addition  to  this,  Yvonnet  had  that 
influence  over  Malemort  which  weak,  nervous  natures  always 
have  over  powerful  ones. 

Malemort  mounted  horse,  and  galloped  in  the  direction 
of  La  Fere. 

Those  who  remained  behind  might  be  tranquil;  at  the 
gait  the  adventurer  rode  at,  the  admiral  would  be  warned 
in  less  than  an  hour  and  a  half. 

Meanwhile,  the  gates  were  thrown  open  to  receive  the 
poor  inhabitants  of  Origny-Sainte-Benoite,  and  all  in  the 
city  were  eager  in  their  offers  of  hospitality.  Then  persons 
were  sent  into  all  the  surrounding  villages — Harly,  Eemi- 


court,  La  Chapelle,  Eocourt,  and  Abbiette — to  requisition 
all  the  flour  and  grain  that  could  be  found  in  them. 

The  enemy  advanced  on  an  immense  line,  and  on  a  depth 
that  led  the  garrison  to  fancy  it  would  have  to  deal  with  the 
entire  Spanish,  German  and  Walloon  army;  that  is  to  say, 
with  fifty  or  sixty  thousand  men. 

Just  as  when  the  lava  descends  from  the  crater  of  Etna 
or  Vesuvius,  the  houses  crumble,  and  the  trees  are  on  fire 
before  the  torrent  of  flame  reaches  them,  so,  in  front  of 
all  this  black  line  which  was  advancing,  houses  might 
be  seen  disappearing  in  a  blaze,  and  villages  in  a  state 
of  conflagration. 

The  entire  population  gazed  on  this  spectacle  from  the 
height  of  the  rampart  of  Eemicourt,  from  the  galleries  of 
the  collegial  church,  which  commands  the  city,  from  the 
summit  of  the  tower  of  Saint-Jean,  from  the  Eed  Tower, 
and  the  tower  of  L'Eau;  and  at  every  fresh  blaze  a  con- 
cert of  curses  arose,  and  seemed,  like  to  a  cloud  of  ill- 
omened  birds,  to  take  flight  and  settle  down  upon  the 

But  the  enemy  was  advancing  for  all  that,  chasing  away 
the  people  before  them,  as  the  wind  was  chasing  the  smoke 
of  the  conflagrations.  During  some  time  the  gates  of  the 
city  continued  to  receive  the  fugitives;  but  they  were  soon 
obliged  to  shut  them,  the  enemy  being  so  near. 

And  then  the  poor  peasants  belonging  to  the  burning 
villages  might  be  seen  trying  to  pass  by  the  city,  to  find 
a  refuge  at  Vermand,  Pontru  and  Caulaincourt. 

Soon  the  drums  beat  again. 

It  was  a  signal  for  all  non-combatants  to  quit  the  ram- 
parts and  the  towers. 

At  last  none  remained  along  the  entire  line  but  the 
combatants,  silent  and  taciturn,  as  men  always  are  when 
gathered  together  to  meet  a  danger. 

The  vanguard  could  now  be  perfectly  distinguished.  It 
was  composed  of  pistoliers,  who,  having  crossed  the  Somme 
between  Eouvroy  and  Harly,  spread  swiftly  over  all  the  cir- 


cumference  of  the  city,  occupying  the  approaches  to  the  gates 
of  Remicourt,  Saint-Jean  and  Ponthoille. 

Behind  the  pistoliers,  three  or  four  thousand  men,  who 
might  be  recognized  from  the  regularity  of  their  march  as 
belonging  to  those  old  Spanish  bands  reputed  to  be  the  best 
troops  in  the  world,  passed  the  Somme  in  their  turn,  and 
marched  in  the  direction  of  the  Faubourg  d'Isle. 

"I  have  every  reason  to  believe,  my  dear  Yvonnet,"  said 
Theligny,  "that  the  music  will  begin  on  the  side  of  the 
house  of  your  charmer.  If  you  like  to  see  how  the  tune 
is  played,  come  with  me." 

"Very  willingly,  lieutenant,"  said  Yvonnet,  who  felt 
those  nervous  shudders  passing  through  his  body  which, 
in  his  case,  was  always  the  sign  of  an  approaching  battle. 

And,  with  lips  closely  pressed  and  cheeks  slightly  pale, 
he  proceeded  toward  the  gate  of  Isle,  where  Theligny  was 
leading  nearly  the  half  of  his  men,  leaving  the  rest  to  sup- 
port the  citizens  and,  at  need,  show  them  an  example. 

We  shall  see  later  on  that  it  was  the  citizens  who  showed 
the  soldiers  the  example,  instead  of  receiving  it  from  them. 

They  arrived  at  the  Faubourg  d'Isle.  Yvonnet  got  a 
hundred  steps  in  front,  and  had  time  to  tap  at  the  window 
of  Gudule,  who  ran  up  all  in  a  tremble,  and  to  advise  the 
young  girl  to  descend  into  the  lower  apartments,  seeing  that 
it  was  not  unlikely  the  balls  would  play  at  shuttlecock  with 
the  chimneys  of  the  houses.  He  had  not  finished,  when,  as 
if  to  support  his  words,  a  ball  passed  swiftly  with  a  hiss, 
and  overturned  a  gable  whose  pieces  fell  like  a  shower  of 
aerolites  around  the  young  man. 

Yvonnet  leaped  from  the  street  on  the  post  in  front  of 
the  house,  clung  with  both  hands  to  the  sill  of  the  window, 
and,  seeking  amid  the  flowers  for  the  trembling  lips  of  the 
young  girl,  imprinted  a  very  tender  kiss  on  them,  and  then 
fell  back  into  the  street. 

"Should  any  misfortune  happen  to  me,  do  not  forget  me 
too  quick,"  said  he;  "and  if  you  forget  me,  don't  let  it  be 
for  a  Spaniard  or  a  German  or  an  Englishman!" 


And,  without  waiting  for  the  assurance  the  young  girl 
was  about  to  give  that  she  would  love  him  always,  he  took 
his  way  to  the  old  wall  and  found  himself  behind  the  para- 
pet, a  few  steps  from  the  spot  he  was  accustomed  to  scale 
during  his  nocturnal  rambles. 

As  had  been  foreseen  by  Theligny,  who  did  not,  in  fact, 
arrive  on  the  scene  of  battle  until  alter  his  squire,  it  was 
there  the  music  was  beginning. 

The  music  was  noisy,  and  made  the  heads  that  heard 
it  bend  more  than  once;  but  gradually  the  bourgeois,  who 
had  at  first  supplied  food  for  laughter  to  the  soldiers,  grew 
accustomed  to  it,  and  then  became  more  furious  than  the 

However,  the  Spaniards  came  on  in  such  increasing  num- 
bers that  the  bourgeois  were  forced  to  abandon  the  exterior 
boulevard,  which  they  had  at  first  attempted  to  defend,  but 
which,  without  a  parapet,  and  commanded  by  the  neighbor- 
ing heights,  soon  became  no  longer  tenable.  Protected  by 
the  two  pieces  of  cannon,  and  by  the  arquebusiers  of  the  old 
wall,  they  accomplished  their  retreat  in  good  order,  leaving 
three  killed,  but  carrying  off  their  wounded. 

Yvonnet  was  dragging  along  a  Spaniard,  through  whose 
body  he  had  passed  his  sword,  and  whose  arquebuse  he  had 
taken;  but  as  he  had  not  had  leisure  to  take,  at  the  same 
time,  the  cartridges  hanging  from  the  baldrick  of  the  dead 
man,  he  was  drawing  him  aside,  hoping  that  his  trouble 
would  not  be  lost,  and  that  the  pockets  might  be  as  well 
furnished  as  the  baldrick. 

This  confidence  was  rewarded:  besides  their  three  months' 
pay,  distributed  to  the  Spaniards  the  evening  before  to  give 
them  courage,  each  of  them  had  appropriated  a  fair  share  of 
plunder  during  the  five  or  six  days  they  held  the  country. 
We  cannot  say  whether  Yvonnet 's  Spaniard  had  appropri- 
ated more  or  less  than  the  others;  but,  after  visiting  his 
pockets,  Yvonnet  appeared  very  well  satisfied  with  what 
he  found  there. 

Behind  the  soldiers  of  Theligny  and  the  bourgeois  of  the 


city,  the  two  Spanish  leaders,  named  Julian  Romeron  and 
Carondelet,  took  possession  of  the  exterior  boulevard,  as 
well  as  of  all  the  houses  lining  the  causeway  of  Guise  and 
of  La  Fere.  These  formed  what  was  called  the  Haut  Fau- 
bourg; but  when  they  tried  to  clear  the  space  between  the 
exterior  boulevard  and  the  old  wall,  they  were  received 
with  such  a  well-directed  fire  that  they  had  to  regain  the 
houses,  from  the  windows  of  which  they  continued  firing 
until  the  darkness  of  night  put  an  end  to  the  encounter. 

It  was  only  then  that  Yvonnet  judged  it  proper  to  turn 
round  his  head.  Then,  ten  paces  in  his  rear,  he  saw  the 
pale  face  of  a  charming  young  girl,  who,  under  the  pre- 
tence of  making  sure  that  her  father  was  there,  had,  in 
spite  of  the  prohibition,  encroached  on  the  ground  of  the 

liis  eyes  glanced  from  the  young  girl  to  his  lieutenant. 

"My  dear  M.  Yvonnet,"  said  the  latter,  "you  have  been 
fighting  or  riding  now  two  days ;  you  must  be  tired.  Leave 
to  others,  then,  the  task  of  watching  on  the  ramparts,  and 
try  to  get  a  good,  pleasant  rest  until  to-morrow.  You  will 
find  me  where  there  is  firing. ' ' 

Yvonnet  did  not  need  to  be  told  twice.  He  saluted  his 
lieutenant,  gave  a  meaning  glance  at  Gudule,  and  then 
started  for  the  causeway,  as  if  intending  to  go  into  the 

But,  mistaking  his  way,  doubtless  on  account  of  the 
darkness,  he  strayed  into  the  suburbs;  for,  ten  minutes 
later,  he  was  in  that  little  lane,  in  front  of  that  little  win- 
dow, and  with  one  foot  on  that  post  from  the  top  of  which 
so  many  things  could  be  done. 

What  Yvonnet  did  was  to  cling  to  two  little  white  hands, 
which  had  quickly  passed  through  that  little  window,  and 
drew  him  so  skilfully  and  adroitly  inside  that  it  was  easy 
to  see  it  was  not  the  first  time  they  were  employed  in  this 

The  things  we  have  just  related  occurred  on  the  2d  of 
August,  1557. 




AS  MIGrHT  easily  be  foreseen,  Malemort  made  quickly 
the  six  leagues  that  separated  Saint-  Quentin  from 
the  camp  of  La  Fere. 

Before  an  hour  and  a  half  had  elapsed,  he  was  at  the 
door  of  M.  1'Amiral. 

Although  any  one  who  witnessed  the  arrival  of  this  man, 
after  such  a  headlong  gallop,  his  clothes  covered  with  blood, 
his  face  with  bandages,  would  have  found  it  impossible  to 
recognize  Malemort  under  a  mask  that  concealed  everything 
but  the  eyes  and  mouth,  yet  it  was  easy  to  recognize  in  him 
a  messenger  of  bad  news. 

He  was,  therefore,  on  the  very  instant  introduced  to 

The  admiral  was  with  his  uncle;  the  constable  had  just 

Malemort  related  the  capture  of  Origny-Sainte-Benoite, 
the  massacre  of  those  who  tried  to  defend  the  castle,  the 
burning  of  all  the  villages  on  the  line  of  march  of  the 
Spanish  army,  whose  passage  left  a  track  of  fire  and  smoke 
behind  it. 

On  the  instant  the  uncle  and  nephew  arranged  their  two 
courses  of  action. 

Coligny,  with  five  or  six  hundred  men,  would  set  out  at 
once  for  Saint- Quentin,  would  shut  himself  up  in  the  city, 
and  hold  out  to  the  last  extremity. 

The  constable,  with  the  rest  of  the  soldiers  in  the  camp, 
would  join  the  army  of  the  Due  de  Nevers,  whose  force 
amounted  to  only  eight  or  nine  thousand  men,  and  who 


was  too  weak,  consequently,  to  attack  the  Spanish  army, 
amounting  to  more  than  fifty  thousand,  but  would  watch 
and  harass  it,  and  be  always  ready  to  profit  by  its  mis- 

This  little  troop  manoeuvred  on  the  confines  of  the  Lyon- 
nais  and  the  Thierache. 

The  admiral  immediately  ordered  the  signal  to  saddle  to 
be  sounded,  and  the  drums  to  beat  the  departure;  but,  in 
accordance  with  the  advice  of  Maldent,  he  decided  to  take 
the  road  to  Ham,  instead  of  following  the  direct  line.  From 
all  he  had  learned,  he  gathered  that  the  Spaniards  would  at- 
tack Saint- Quentin  by  Re'micourt  and  the  Faubourgs  Saint- 
Jean  and  d'Isle. 

Consequently,  on  these  three  sides  Coligny  would  find 
an  obstacle  to  his  project. 

The  only  road  that,  according  to  Maldent,  would  still 
have  a  chance  of  being  free  was  that  from  Ham  to  Saint- 
Quentin,  passing  through  marshes  that  were  impracticable, 
except  for  those  knowing  the  paths  through  them. 

Coligny  took  with  him  three  bands  of  foot- soldiers. 
These  bands  were  commanded  by  Captains  Saint-  Andr£, 
Kambouillet,  and  Louis  Poy.  But  the  third,  which  had 
arrived  from  Gascony  that  very  day,  was  so  exhausted 
that  it  had  to  stop  on  the  road  between  Ham  and  La  Fere. 

Soon  after  the  constable  and  the  admiral  left  La  Fere, 
they  found  sitting  on  his  haunches,  in  the  middle  of  the 
road,  a  huge  black  dog,  which  began  howling  with  all  his 
might.  When  they  chased  him,  he  ran  before  them  about 
a  hundred  paces,  sat  down  in  the  same  fashion,  and  howled 
more  horribly  than  ever.  Chased  again,  he  a'cted  in  a  simi- 
lar way,  his  howls  becoming  stronger  and  more  desperate 
than  before. 

Then  the  constable,  looking  at  M.  de  Coligny— 

"What  the  devil  do  you  think  of  this,  nephew?"  he 

"Faith,  I  think  the  music  is  in  no  way  pleasant,  mon- 
sieur, and  I  believe  we  are  likely  to  play  the  comedy." 


"Yes,  and  perhaps  the  tragedy  as  well,"  replied  the  con- 
stable. ' 

At  this  prediction  both  of  them  embraced,  the  admiral 
continuing  his  way  to  Ham,  the  constable  returning  to  La 
Fere,  which  he  left  the  same  evening. 

But  another  omen  awaited  the  latter  when  he  quitted 
the  city. 

He  had  scarcely  gone  a  league  on  the  road  to  Laon, 
when  a  kind  of  pilgrim,  with  a  long  beard  and  dressed  in 
a  long  robe,  seized  the  reins  of  his  horse,  crying — 

' l  Montmorency !  Montmorency !  I  announce  to  thee  that 
in  three  days  all  thy  glory  shall  be  in  the  dust!" 

"Be  it  so,"  said  the  constable;  "but  I  announce  to  thee 
that  before  that  thine  shall  be  in  the  gutter ! ' ' 

And  he  gave  him  so  rough  a  blow  with  his  fist  that  the 
poor  prophet  fell  unconscious  on  the  roadside,  and  had  his 
jaw  broken.2 

The  constable  went  on  his  way,  as  did  the  admiral,  each 
carrying  with  him  his  fatal  omen. 

Coligny  reached  Ham  about  five  in  the  evening.  His 
resolution  was  not  to  stop  any  time  until  he  reached  Saint- 
Quentin.  Therefore,  after  allowing  his  soldiers  an  hour's 
rest,  he  resumed  his  march  with  his  gendarmes  and  two 
companies  of  infantry  only. 

At  Ham,  MM.  de  Jarnac  and  de  Luzarches  did  all  they 
could  to  retain  him,  pointing  out  the  services  he  could  do 
in  the  open  country,  and  offering  to  go  and  shut  themselves 
up  there  in  his  stead;  but  he  answered — 

"I  would  rather  lose  everything  I  possess  than  not  bring 
to  those  brave  people,  who  have  shown  such  a  good  dis- 
position to  defend  their  city,  the  aid  I  promised  them!" 

And,  as  we  have  said,  he  set  out,  without  a  minute's 
delay,  at  the  hour  he  had  appointed. 

At  the  gates  of  Ham  he  met  the  Abbot  of  Saint- Prix. 
He  was  a  very  noble  prelate,  named  Jacques  de  la  Motte; 

1  "Memoires  de  Mergey,"  folio  250.  8  "Memoires  de  Melvil." 


was  at  the  same  time  canon  of  Saint- Quentin,  Chartres, 
Paris,  and  Le  Mans ;  he  possessed,  besides,  two  priories,  and 
when  he  died,  he  had  been  canon  under  five  kings,  begin- 
ning with  Frangois  I. 

Coligny,  suspecting  that  the  illustrious  traveller  came 
from  Saint- Quentin,  went  up  to  him;  the  warrior  and  the 
churchman  recognized  each  other. 

When  the  first  shots  were  fired  at  the  gate  of  Isle,  the 
abbot  quitted  the  city  by  the  Faubourg  de  Ponthoille,  and 
was  going  with  all  speed  to  inform  the  king  of  the  position 
of  Saint- Quentin,  and  ask  for  succor.  So,  as  the  admiral 
had  foreseen,  the  last  road  left  open  was  the  one  he  followed. 

"M.  1'Abbe, "  said  the  admiral  to  the  prelate,  "since  you 
are  about  to  see  the  king,  do  me  the  favor  to  tell  his  Majesty 
that  you  have  this  night  met  me  at  the  head  of  a  good  troop, 
and  that  I  reckon,  with  (rod's  help,  to  enter  Saint- Quentin, 
where  I  hope  to  do  him  good  service. ' ' 

And,  having  saluted  the  abbot,  he  continued  on  his  way. 

A  league  further  on  he  began  to  perceive  the  fugitives 
of  Origny-Sainte-Benoite  and  other  villages  nearer  Saint- 
Quentin,  who,  not  finding  a  refuge  in  the  city,  had  been 
forced  to  fly  beyond  it.  The  poor  creatures  were  worn  out 
with  fatigue — some  still  limping  along,  still  others  lying  at 
the  foot  of  trees,  and  dying  of  hunger  and  exhaustion. 

The  admiral  distributed  some  help  among  them,  and 
then  resumed  his  march. 

Two  leagues  from  Saint- Quentin,  night  overtook  him; 
but  Maldent  was  there.  He  answered  for  the  safety  of 
those  who  wished  to  follow  him ;  and,  hoping  there  would 
be  a  liberal  reward  at  the  end  of  the  journey,  he  offered, 
as  a  proof  of  his  good  faith,  to  march  in  front  of  the  ad- 
miral's horse  with  a  rope  about  his  neck. 

The  band  of  Captain  Rambouillet  agreed  to  take  a  path 
pointed  out  to  it;  but  Captain  Saint- Andre  declared  he  had 
a  good  guide  of  his  own,  and  asked  to  follow  him. 

No  obstacle  presented  itself  on  the  road  to  Saint- Quentin. 
The  city  had  not  been  entirely  invested;  one  of  its  sides, 


that  of  the  Faubourg  de  Ponthoille,  had  been  reserved  for 
the  English  army,  which  was  likely  to  arrive  at  any  mo- 
ment, and  it  was  exactly  this  side  that  the  admiral  was 

As  a  precaution,  a  view  had  been  taken  of  the  situation 
of  the  city  and  of  its  besiegers  from  the  height  of  Savy,  and 
it  was  perceived  that  the  fires  of  the  enemy  extended  only 
from  the  chapel  of  Epargnemaille  to  within  some  distance 
of  Graillard;  it  almost  looked  as  if  a  path  had  been  expressly 
opened  for  the  little  troop  of  the  admiral. 

This  was  the  very  point  that  troubled  him ;  he  was  afraid 
of  an  ambuscade. 

Procope,  who,  from  his  frequent  conferences  with  Mai- 
dent,  had  become  familiar  with  the  Picard  dialect,  offered 
to  reconnoitre. 

The  admiral  accepted,  and  called  a  halt. 

At  the  end  of  three-quarters  of  an  hour  the  adventurer 
returned;  the  road  was  perfectly  free,  and  he  was  able  to 
approach  so  close  to  the  rampart  that  he  saw  the  sentinel 
who  was  patrolling  between  the  gate  of  Ponthoille  and  the 
tower  facing  the  Pre  aux  Oisons. 

Then  Procope  whistled  to  the  sentinel  across  the  little 
rivulet  which  at  that  period  ran  along  the  foot  of  the  wall ; 
the  sentinel  stopped,  and  tried  to  penetrate  the  darkness. 

Procope  whistled  a  second  time,  and,  sure  that  he  had 
been  seen,  announced  the  approach  of  the  admiral. 

In  this  way  the  post  at  the  gate  of  Ponthoille  would  be 
warned,  and  the  admiral  introduced  into  the  city  immedi- 
ately on  his  arrival. 

Coligny  praised  highly  the  intelligence  of  Procope,  ap- 
proved of  all  he  had  done,  and  now  resumed  his  march  with 
more  confidence,  guided  still  by  Maldent. 

At  thirty  yards  from  the  gate  a  man  rose  from  a  fosse ; 
he  held  a  pistol  in  his  han'd,  ready  to  be  fired,  if,  instead 
of  a  friendly  troop,  the  troop  approaching  was  a  hostile  one. 

Suddenly  a  long  thick  mass  of  shadow  was  noticed  on 
the  ramparts;  it  was  a  hundred  men,  who  had  been  sum- 


moned  to  this  point  in  case  the  news  given  by  Procope  to 
the  sentinel  might  be  a  deception  to  conceal  a  surprise. 

The  man  with  the  pistol,  who  had  started  up  from  the 
fosse,  was  Lieutenant  Theligny. 

He  advanced,  saying — 

' '  France  and  Theligny ! ' ' 

"France  and  Coligny  I"  replied  the  admiral. 

The  recognition  was  instantaneous ;  and  the  promised  re- 
inforcement having  arrived,  the  gates  were  thrown  open. 

The  admiral  and  his  hundred  and  twenty  men  entered. 

At  the  same  moment  the  report  of  his  arrival  spread 
through  the  city;  the  inhabitants  left  their  houses,  half- 
clad,  shouting  with  joy.  Many  wished  to  illuminate ;  some 
had  already  begun. 

The  admiral  ordered  the  shouts  to  cease  and  the  lights 
to  be  extinguished.  He  feared  the  enemy  might  be  more 
on  the  alert  on  account  of  this,  and  redouble  their  watch- 
fulness. Besides,  Saint- Andre  and  his  troop  had  not  yet 

At  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  there  was  no  news  of 
them  yet. 

Then,  as  it  was  near  daybreak,  and  it  was  of  the  utmost 
importance  that  they  should  not  fall  in  with  any  Spanish 
troops,  Lactance  advanced  with  six  or  eight  of  his  Jacobins. 

The  good  fathers,  whom  their  habit  protected  from  all 
suspicion,  offered  to  scatter  about  the  country  for  a  radius 
•of  one  or  two  leagues,  and  bring  back  the  strayed  com- 

Their  offer  was  accepted,  and  they  set  out,  some  by  the 
gate  of  Ponthoille,  others  by  the  Sainte- Catherine  postern. 

Between  four  and  five  in  the  morning  a  troop  of  sixty 
men,  led  by  two  Jacobin  fathers,  made  its  appearance. 

Then,  toward  six,  a  second  troop  of  from  fifty-five  to 
sixty  arrived,  also  led  by  a  monk. 

'Captain  Saint-  Andr£  was  with  this  second  troop.  The 
guide  had  gone  astray,  and  led  the  others  astray  with  him. 

The  rest  of  the  fathers  arrived,   one  after  another;  and 

////   / 



•  I 

:   tl,l    t >,' 


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Tin      .    mi|..    \x  In,  li  .  ,.\  ,  i,  ,1    n.    n  U    li  ill     i  .,111,1. 

JIM. I  in  \\  In.  Ii  i  lid  hiii  .    .'i   ;  MX  ..N   IMI,  li.  ,1   In     i. 
n  1 1  ..iiii.l,', I   ii\   i  ii, 

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,1       I        I. 

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bO   till      I1  "i  I 

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I,    H'"     M    •  till!       l>'|l  -      .mil 

•i  I      I'm      .     <  ' I       \l    m     [01(1,       I  • .1     tjl        \l,    n.l 

,lm   in.l    <  ,  !         l.,.|i     ,,|        \  i  i    ,         (  ',,iii,l 

\l    u      I,   ,1    (  '  u,  I,,    i  i     .     hnl    ,      Kl'U!      |,  t)| 

.1  M  .u    M.ini  h|n,  .    M,      ii ,     ill      I'.,.     ||     \l,      ||<i     ,|.     I'.,  i 

<  loin ti   i|<  i  :  i,, i  \      m   • 

I  In     .|ii.n  I-   i      "I    I  I..     Ii.  i  h  \     MM. I    I  li.     Iii  MM  i    li,>|'rt, 

i   'l1 •    tlnl    '•  "i   I-  1 1" 

..I    tin    point   (111 II  i.    i  :.     i  i 

1 1  •  i ,  1 1  <  •  i   1 1 1  •    l '  i 1 1   .  1 1  *  *  1 1 . 

In,    I,      III,        In  "      I.    M  ll)||        Mill       h       m      Mill     ,1    M      I,, 

MM       tin jllnil     l'\     I  IIM!     I,  il  I.    i    ,      I.  I  I.    .1     I  |.    II     ,     i 

III      HIM.     I  I •    i , .   ,  I      Mill       I    i ,   ,       (I |      Mi, 

h,. m   Ponthollli    i"    i 

I I  'I'     I.     I    ,       II  I'M    ,  I       I.;       I   I 

I  loll     I  ,      >    I  •   <   ,  I     I.  il     MM       lull     I,      ,i 

Tlii         fH'l      '  'I      |  .1 ,  | .  1 1  ,  i  •  .1 


through,  the  admiral  descended  to  the  Town  Hall.  There 
he  ordered  that  he  should  be  given  a  list  of  all  men  fit  to 
bear  arms;  that  search  be  made  for  all  the  arms  that  might 
still  be  in  the  city;  that  the  names  of  all  the  workmen  and 
workwomen  be  taken  down  who  could  be  employed  at 
the  earthworks;  that  a  perquisition  should  be  made  with  the 
view  of  gathering  together  all  the  tools,  spades,  shovels, 
baskets,  pickaxes,  and  such  like;  that  an  account  should 
be  drawn  up  of  all  grain,  flour,  wines,  cattle,  provisions 
of  every  sort  contained  in  the  public  magazines  as  well  as  in 
private  houses,  for  the  purpose  of  establishing  some  order 
in  the  consumption  and  avoiding  pillage.  In  fine,  he  de- 
manded an  exact  account,  not  only  of  the  artillery,  but 
also  of  the  quantity  of  powder  and  balls,  as  well  as  the 
number  of  men  serving  the  cannon. 

During  the  tour  he  had  just  made  the  admiral  had  seen 
only  two  mills:  a  windmill  situated  at  the  end  of  the  Eue 
du  Billon,  near  the  Eed  Tower,  and  a  water-mill  on  the 
Somme,  at  the  foot  of  the  Faubourg  d'Isle.  These  two 
mills  were  not  enough  for  grinding  the  corn  necessary 
for  the  consumption  of  a  city  of  twenty  thousand  in- 

He  expressed  his  fears  on  this  point.  But  the  aldermen 
at  once  reassured  him,  declaring  there  were  fifteen  or  sixteen 
hand-mills  in  the  city  which  could  be  worked  by  horses, 
and  which,  if  kept  going  constantly,  would  suffice  for  the 
nourishment  of  the  city  and  garrison. 

Then  Coligny  saw  to  the  billeting  of  the  soldiers,  adopt- 
ing the  division  of  the  city  into  four  quarters,  but  sub- 
dividing those  quarters  into  sixteen  parts,  for  the  surveil- 
lance of  which  he  appointed  sixteen  citizens  and  sixteen 
officers,  all  whose  decisions  were  to  be  in  concert.  The 
troops  were  assigned  to  the  guard  of  the  walls,  conjointly 
with  the  bourgeois  militia,  each  body  having  to  protect  its 
respective  quarter.  The  Town  Council  was  to  sit  perma- 
nently, in  order  to  be  able  to  answer  without  delay  to  all 
the  requisitions  addressed  to  it. 


In  fine,  the  admiral  presented  to  the  corporation  the 
gentlemen  forming  what  to-day  we  should  call  his  staff, 
who  were  to  act  as  intermediaries  between  him  and  the 

In  addition  to  these  officers  Captain  Languetot  was 
named  superintendent  of  artillery  j  having  at  his  disposal 
ten  men-at-arms  to  whom  was  assigned  the  mission  of  veri- 
fying the  quantity  of  powder  employed  by  the  cannoneers 
each  day,  and  who  were  particularly  charged  to  watch  that 
this  precious  powder  should  be  sheltered  from  all  danger. 

While  going  along  the  ramparts,  Coligny  remarked,  near 
the  gate  Saint- Jean,  at  hardly  a  hundred  paces  from  the 
wall,  a  large  number  of  gardens  filled  with  fruit-trees  and 
surrounded  by  lofty  and  dense  hedges.  These  trees  and 
hedges  offered  to  the  enemy  a  cover  that  allowed  him  to 
approach  the  ramparts. 

As  these  gardens  belonged  to  the  chief  persons  of  the 
city,  the  admiral  asked  the  council's  consent  to  clear  them: 
this  consent  was  given  without  any  difficulty;  and  all  the 
carpenters  of  the  city  were  at  once  set  to  work  cutting  down 
the  hedges  and  fruit-trees.  Their  branches  were  destined 
for  fascines. 

Then,  seeing  the  assembly  of  the  same  mind  and  same 
spirit,  nobles,  bourgeois,  and  soldiers  animated,  if  not  with 
the  same  enthusiasm,  at  least  with  the,  same  energy,  Coligny 
retired  to  the  house  of  the  governor,  where  he  had  appointed 
a  meeting  of  the  officers  of  all  the  companies. 

This  house  waS-  situated  in  the  Riie  de  la  Monnaie,  be- 
tween the  Templerie  and  the  Jacobins. 

The  officers  were  informed  of  what  had  just  been  done. 
The  admiral  spoke  of  the  good  spirit  of  the  inhabitants, 
and  their  resolution  to  defend  themselves  to  the  last  ex- 
tremity ;  he  urged  them,  by  softening,  as  much  as  possible, 
the  hardships  of  the  situation,  to  maintain  cordial  union 
between  those  two  powers  so  rarely  in  accord — the  army 
and  the  bourgeoisie. 

Each  captain  had,   besides,   to  furnish,   on  the  spot,   a 


statement  of  the  condition  of  his  company,  in  order  that 
the  admiral  might  know  exactly  the  number  of  men  he 
could  dispose  of,  and  figure  up  how  many  military  mouths 
had  to  be  fed. 

Then,  going  up  with  an  engineer  to  the  gallery  of  the 
Collegiate,  he  pointed  out,  from  that  elevated  point,  where 
a  view  of  the  entire  circumvallation  of  the  city  could  be 
embraced,  the  excavations  that  had  to  be  filled  up  and  the 
elevations  that  had  to  be  levelled  down. 

These  orders  having  been  given,  and  being  alone  with 
the  officer  whom  he  intended  sending  to  the  constable  to 
obtain  a  reinforcement  of  troops,  while  it  was  still  possible 
to  revictual  the  place,  he  decided  that  the  Savy  road,  all 
covered  with  vines  and  debouching  through  a  chain  of 
little  hills,  was  the  most  favorite  route  for  such  troops 
as  might  try  to  enter  the  city. 

Captain  Saint- Andre  had,  in  fact,  entered  from  this 
quarter  in  full  daylight,  and  without  being  seen. 

Then,  these  orders  being  given,  and  these  dispositions 
arranged,  Coligny  at  last  remembered  that  he  was  a  man, 
and  returned  to  snatch  a  few  hours'  repose. 



WHILE  all  these  measures  for  the  public  safety  were 
being  taken  by  Coligny,  on  whom  rested  the  en- 
tire responsibility  of  the  defence  of  the  city,  and 
while  the  admiral,  a  little  reassured,  as  we  have  said,  by 
the  ardor  of  the  soldiers  and  the  courage  of  the  citizens, 
had  retired  to  the  governor's  palace  to  take  a  little  repose, 
our  adventurers,  ready,  also,  to  fight  for  the  city — because 
Coligny  had  taken  them  into  his  pay,  after  certain  reserva- 
tions had  been  made  by  Procope — our  adventurers,  taking 
everything  carelessly,   waiting  for  the   first  signal   of   the 


trumpet  and  the  drum,  had  pitched  their  tent  a  hundred 
paces  from  the  gate  of  Isle,  and  established  their  domicile 
on  a  vacant  piece  of  ground  extending,  in  front  of  the  Cor- 
deliers, from  the  extremity  of  the  .Rue  Wager  to  the  talus 
of  the  wall. 

As  a  result  of  the  entrance  of  Coligny  into  Saint- Quentin 
they  were  all  united  again.  They  were  settling  accounts. 

Yvonnet,  standing,  had  just  faithfully  poured  into  the 
common  treasury  the  half  of  the  sum  he  owed  to  the  lib- 
erality of  King  Henri  II. ;  Procope,  half  the  fees  he  had 
received  as  notary;  Maldent,  half  of  the  wages  he  earned 
as  guide;  Malemort,  half  of  the  gratuity  given  him  for 
going  to  warn  Coligny,  all  wounded  though  he  was,  of 
the  arrival  of  the  Spaniards;  Pilletrousse,  in  fine,  half  of 
the  amount  he  had  gained  by  selling  what  was  left  of  the 
ox  of  the  two  Scharfensteins. 

As  to  the  latter,  as  there  had  been  no  fight,  they  had 
nothing  to  contribute  to  the  pile,  and  were  busy  roasting 
the  remains  of  the  quarter  of  the  ox  left  after  the  distribu- 
tion of  the  other  three-quarters  by  Pilletrousse,  not  at  all 
concerning  themselves  about  the  future  scarcity  of  provi- 
sions likely  to  result  from  the  blockade. 

Lactance  brought  two  large  sacks  of  wheat  and  a  sack  of 
beans,  which  he  offered  to  the  community  instead  of  money : 
it  was  a  present  to  our  adventurers  from  the  convent  of  the 
Jacobins,  whose  monks  had,  as  we  know,  been  organized 
into  a  regiment  and  had  chosen  .Lactance  as  captain. 

Fracasso  was  all  absorbed  in  his  search  for  a  rhyme  to 
perdre,  which  he  did  not  find. 

Under  a  kind  of  shed,  hastily  built,  the  two  horses  of 
Yvonnet  and  Malemort  were  munching  their  hay  and  enjoy- 
ing their  oats. 

A  portable  mill  was  established  under  the  shed,  not  to 
have  it  near  the  horses,  but  *  to  have  it  under  cover;  the 
duty  of  turning  it  was  intrusted  to  Heinrich  and  Franz. 

The  pecuniary  affairs  of  the  association  were  in  a  good 
condition;  and  forty  golden  crowns,  carefully  counted  by 


Procope,  counted  over  again  by  Mai  dent,  and  arranged  in 
a  line  in  piles  by  Pilletrousse,  were  ready  to  enter  the 
common  chest. 

Should  the  association  continue  equally  prosperous  for 
a  whole  year,  it  was  the  intention  of  Procope  to  purchase 
a  notary's  or  an  attorney's  business  in  some  village;  Mai- 
dent's  to  purchase  a  little  farm  on  the  road  to  La  Fere — a 
farm  he  knew  of  old,  for  he  was,  as  we  have  said,  from  that 
country;  Yvonnet's  to  marry  some  rich  heiress,  to  whose 
hand  his  elegance  and  fortune  would  give  him  a  double 
title;  Pilletrousse 's  to  found  some  great  butchery  either  in 
Paris  or  in  a  provincial  town;  Fracasso's  to  have  his  poems 
printed  after  the  manner  of  M.  Bonsard  and  M.  Jodelle ;  in 
fine,  Malemort's  to  fight  for  his  own  hand,  and  this  as  long 
as  he  liked — a  stipulation  that  would  save  him  from  being 
bothered  by  the  warnings  of  his  comrades  and  those  into 
whose  service  he  entered,  that  he  was  taking  too  little  care 
of  his  personal  safety. 

As  to  the  two  Scharfensteins,*having  no  idea,  they  had 
no  project. 

At  the  moment  when  Maldent  was  counting  the  last 
crown,  and  Pilletrousse  was  building  up  the  last  pile,  a 
kind  of  shadow  fell  upon  the  adventurers,  indicating  that 
some  opaque  body  had  interposed  between  them  and  the 

Instinctively  Procope  stretched  forth  his  hands  toward 
the  gold ;  Maldent,  quicker  still,  covered  it  with  his  cap. 

Yvonnet  turned  round.  The  same  young  man  who  had 
tried  to  buy  his  horse  in  the  camp  of  La  Fere  was  standing 
at  the  entrance  to  the  tent. 

Quick  as  Maldent  had  been  in  covering  the  money  with 
his  cap,  the  unknown  had  seen  it;  and,  with  the  prompt 
glance  of  a  man  to  whom  such  reckonings  are  familiar,  he 
had  calculated  that  the  sum  they  were  so  anxious  to  hide 
from  his  eyes  amounted  to  some  fifty  crowns  of  gold. 

uAh,  ah  I"  said  he,  "it  would  seem  the  harvest  has  not 
been  bad!  An  unseasonable  moment  to  propose  doing  a 


little  business  with  you;  you  are  sure  to  be  hard  as  the 
devil,  my  masters!" 

"That  depends  on  the  gravity  of  the  business, "' said 

"There  are  several  kinds  of  business,"  said  Maiden t. 

"Does  this  business  lead  to  anything  further  than  the 
benefit  to  be  gained  from  the  business  itself?"  asked 

"If  there  are  blows  to  be  given,  I'm  your  man,"  said 

"Provided  it  be  not  an  expedition  against  any  church 
or  convent,  it  might  be  arranged,"  said  Lactance. 

"Particularly  if  it  occur  by  moonlight,"  said  Fracasso. 
"I  am  in  favor  of  nocturnal  expeditions;  they  alone  are 
poetic  and  picturesque." 

Yvonnet  said  nothing;  he  was  gazing  at  the  stranger. 

The  two  Scharf ensteins  were  entirely  occupied  in  *roast- 
ing  their  piece  of  beef. 

All  these  observations,  each  of  which  painted  the  char- 
acter of  the  speaker,  issued  almost  simultaneously  from  the 
lips  of  the  adventurers. 

The  young  man  smiled.  He  replied,  at  the  same  time, 
to  all  the  questions,  regarding,  successively,  the  person  to 
whom  was  addressed  the  fraction  of  his  answer. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "the  affair  is  grave;  no  graver  could 
be  imagined.  And,  although  there  are  advantages  to  be 
gained  o.utside  the  business  itself,  as  there  are  a  good  share 
of  blows  to  be  given  and  taken,  I  reckon  on  offering  you  a 
reasonable  sum,  and  one  that  must  satisfy  the  most  difficult. 
Moreover,  religious  minds  need  not  be  alarmed,"  he  added; 
"there  is  no  question  of  church  or  convent;  and  it  is  proba- 
ble that,  for  greater  security,  we  shall  act  by  night;  I  must 
say,  however,  that  I  should  prefer  a  dark  night  to  a  night 
lighted  up  by  moon  and  stars. ' ' 

""Well,  well,"  said  Procope,  who  usually  took  charge  of 
the  discussion  of  the  interests  of  the  society,  "develop  your 
proposal,  and  we  shall  see  if  it  be  acceptable. ' ' 

(13)— Vol.  20 


"My  proposal  is,"  replied  the  young  man,  "to  hire  you 
for  a  nocturnal  expedition,  or  a  skirmish,  or  combat,  or  bat- 
tle in  open  day. ' ' 

' '  And  what  shall  we  have  to  do  in  this  nocturnal  expedi- 
tion, or  skirmish,  or  combat,  or  battle  ?" 

"You  will  have  to  attack  him  whom  I  attack,  to  surround 
and  strike  him  until  he  dies. ' ' 

"And  if  he  surrenders  ?" 

"I  warn  you  beforehand  that  he  shall  have  no  quarter 
from  me. ' ' 

"Pesfe/"  said  Procope;  "it  is  war  to  the  death,  then?" 

' '  To  the  death !  you  are  right,  my  friend ! ' ' 

"Good!"  growled  Malemort,,  rubbing  his  hands;  "that's 
the  way  to  talk!" 

"But  still,"  said  Maldent,  "if  the  ransom  was  good,  it 
seems  to  me  it  would  be  better  to  hold  to  ransom  than 
to  kill." 

"Consequently,  I  shall  treat  of  the  ransom  and  the  death 
at  the  same  time,  in  order  that  these  two  cases  be  provided 

"That  is  to  say,"  returned  Procope,  "that  you  buy  the 
man,  living  or  dead?" 

' '  At  the  same  price. ' ' 

"Good!"  said  Maldent;  "it  seems  to  me,  however,  that 
a  live  man  is  worth  more  than  a  dead  one." 

"No,  for  I  would  buy  the  live  man  from  you  only  to 
make  him  a  dead  one;  that's  all." 

"Let  us  see,"  said  Procope;  "how  much  do  you 

"A  moment,  Procope!"  said  Yvonnet;  "it  is  right  that 
M.  Waldeck  should  tell  us  who  the  man  is. " 

The  young  man  made  a  bound  backward. 

"You  have  pronounced  a  name — "  said  he. 

"Which  is  yours,  monsieur,"  returned  Yvonnet,  while 
the  adventurers  looked  at  one  another,  beginning  to  suspect 
that  it  was  to  Yvonnet  they  should  leave  the  care  of  their 


The  young  man  scowled  with  his  thick  red  eyebrows. 

"And  since  when  have  you  recognized  me?"  he  asked. 

"Do  you  wish  me  to  tell  you  ?"  answered  Yvonnet. 

Waldeck  hesitated. 

"Do  you  remember  the  Chateau  du  Parcq?"  continued 
the  adventurer. 

Waldeck  turned  pale. 

"Do  you  remember  the  forest  of  Saint- Pol- sur-Ternoise  ?" 

"It  is  just  because  I  remember  it  that  I  am  here,  and 
making  the  proposal  you  are  discussing. ' ' 

"Then  it  is  Duke  Emmanuel  Philibert  that  you  are  pro- 
posing to  us  to  kill,"  said  Yvonnet,  quietK 

"Pestel"    cried  Procope,  "the  Duke  of  Savoy!" 

"You  see  it  was  good  to  have  an  explanation,"  said 
Yvonnet,  casting  a  side  glance  at  his  companions. 

"And  why  should  one  not  kill  the  Duke  of  Savoy?" 
exclaimed  Malemort. 

"I  do  not  say  that  the  Duke  of  Savoy  may  not  be 
killed,"  retorted  Procope. 

"Nor  I!"  said  Malemort;  "the  Duke  of  Savoy  is  our 
enemy,  since  we  have  taken  service  with  the  admiral,  and 
I  do  not  see  why  he  should  not  be  killed  like  another!" 

Maldent  made  a  sign  of  assent. 

"It  should  cost  dearer!"    he  said. 

"Not  to  say  that  it  would  endanger  our  souls!"  said 

"Bah!"  said  Waldeck,  with  his  evil  smile;  "do  you 
believe  that,  if  he  is  not  in  hell  for  something  else,  Ben- 
venuto  Cellini  has  been  damned  for  slaying  the  Connetable 
de  Bourbon?" 

"The  Connetable  de  Bourbon  was  a  rebel,  distinguo," 
said  Procope. 

"And,  moreover,  as  he  was  fighting  against  Pope'  Clem- 
ent VII.,  it  was  a  pious  work  to  kill  him,"  added  Lactance. 

"Oh!  and  of  course  your  Duke  of  Savoy  is  such  a 
friend  of  Pope  Paul  IV.!"  returned  Waldeck,  shrugging 
his  shoulders. 


"Well,  well,  that  is  not  the  question  at  all,"  said  Pille- 
trousse;  "the  question  is  the  price." 

"G-ood!"  returned  Wai  deck;  "that  is  called  returning 
to  the  question.  What  do  you  say  to  five  hundred  gold 
crowns — a  hundred  as  earnest- money,  and  four  hundred 
when  the  thing  is  done?" 

Procope  shook  his  head.  "I  say  that  we  are  still  far 
from  the  sum  required. ' ' 

"I  am  sorry,"  said  Waldeck,  "for,  not  to  lose  time,  this  is 
my  last  offer.  I  have  five  hundred  gold  crowns,  and  not  a 
carolus  more;  if  you  refuse,  I  shall  have  to  look  elsewhere. " 

The  adventurers  sought  one  another's  eyes;  five  out  of 
the  seven  shook  their  heads.  Malemort  alone  was  of  opin- 
ion that  they  should  accept,  because  he  saw  there  were 
blows  to  be  given  and  taken.  Fracasso  had  fallen  back 
into  his  poetic  reveries. 

"For  that  matter,"  said  Waldeck,  "there's  no  hurry; 
you  will  reflect.  I  know  you;  you  know  me.  We  dwell 
in  the  same  city ;  we  can  easily  find  each  other  again. ' ' 

And,  saluting  the  adventurers  with  a  slight  nod,  he 
turned  on  his  heel,  and  was  gone. 

"Ought  we  to  call  him  back?"  said  Procope. 

"Faith!"  said  Maldent,  "five  hundred  crowns  are  not 
found  under  every  hedge!" 

' '  And  then, ' '  said  Yvonnet,  "  it  is  all  he  has ;  the  loveli- 
est girl  in  the  world  cannot  give  more  than  that." 

" My  brethren, "  said  Lactance,  "the  lives  of  the  princes 
of  the  earth  are  under  the  direct  guardianship  of  Heaven ; 
one  risks  one's  soul  by  touching  them.  We  must  touch 
them,  then,  only  for  a  sum  that  will  allow  each  one  of  us 
to  purchase  the  indulgences  of  which  he  shall  have  need, 
whether  we  succeed  or  no.  The  intention,  my  brethren — 
the  worthy  prior  of  the  Jacobins  told  me  so  yesterday — the 
intention,  my  brethren,  is  taken  for  the  deed. ' ' 

"There  is  no  doubt,"  said  Procope,  "that  the  deed  itself 
would  gain  us  more  than  the  sum  mentioned  in  the  proposal. 
What  if  we  did  it  on  our  own  account,  eh  ?" 


"Yes,"  said  Malemort;  "let  us  do  the  job." 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Procope,  "the  idea  is  M.  Waldeck's. 
To  take  from  a  man  his  idea,  especially  when  he  has  con- 
fided it  to  us,  would  be  robbery.  You  know  my  principles 
in  matters  of  law. ' ' 

"Well,"  said  Yvonnet,  "if  the  idea  is  his,  and  he  has 
a  property  in  it,  I  think  it  would  be  as  well  to  accept  the 
five  hundred  crowns. ' ' 

"Yes;  let  us  accept  and  have  a  fight!"  cried  Malemort. 

"Oh,  there's  no  hurry,"  said  Maldent. 

"And  if  he  treats  with  others?"  asked  Yvonnet. 

"Yes,  if  he  treats  with  others?"  repeated  Procope. 

"Let  us  accept  and  have  a  fight!"  howled  Malemort. 

"Yes!  yes!  let  us  accept!"  cried  all,  with  one  voice. 

"Let  us  accept!"  cried  the  two  Scharfensteins,  who  en- 
tered at  the  moment,  bearing  on  a  plank  their  piece  of  roast 
beef,  and,  without  knowing  what  it  was  all  about,  ranged 
themselves  on  the  side  of  the  majority,  giving  a  fresh  proof 
of  good  disposition. 

' '  Then  let  some  one  run  after  him  and  call  him  back, ' ' 
said  Procope. 

"Let  me!"  said  Malemort.     And  he  rushed  out. 

But  no  sooner  had  he  done  so  than  he  heard  some  shots 
in  the  direction  of  the  Faubourg  d'Isle,  which  suddenly 
increased  to  a  lively  fusillade. 

"A  fight!  a  fight!"  cried  Malemort,  drawing  his  sword, 
and  running  toward  the  sound,  which  came  from  a  point 
directly  opposite  to  that  made  for  by  the  bastard  of  Wai- 
deck,  who  was  going  toward  the  tower  of  L'Eau. 

"Oh,  oh!  there  is  fighting  at  the  Faubourg  d'Isle!"  ex- 
claimed Yvonnet;  "I  must  see  what  has  become  of  Grudule!" 

"But  the  business?"  cried  Procope. 

"Finish  it  as  you  like,"  said  Yvonnet;  "whatever  you 
do  will  be  well  done — I  give  you  my  proxy. ' ' 

He  rushed  after  Malemort,  who  had  already  passed  the 
first  bridge,  and  had  his  foot  on  the  island  forming  the  strait 
of  Saint- Pierre. 


Let  us  follow,  in  our  turn,  Malemort  and  Yvonnet,  in 
order  to  find  out  what  was  taking  place  at  the  Faubourg 



IT  WILL  be  recollected  that,  on  entering  the  government 
palace,  Coligny  had  given  orders,  toward  the  evening, 
for  a  sortie,  having  for  object  to  burn  the  houses  lining 
the  exterior  boulevard,  under  cover  of  which  the  Spaniards 
were  able  to  fire  on  the  defenders  of  the  city,  who,  stationed 
on  an  interior  plateau,  had  no  shelter  from  it. 

These  orders  had  been  given  to  MM.  Theligny,  Jarnac, 
and  Luzarches. 

Consequently,  at  six  in  the  evening,  the  three  officers 
collected  a  hundred  men  from  their  companies  and  a  hun- 
dred and  twenty  citizens  of  good  will,  led  by  Gruillaume 
and  Jean  Pauquet. 

These  two  hundred  and  twenty  men  were  to  attack  two 

Hardly  thirty  paces  from  the  old  wall  the  road  bifur- 
cates, as  we  have  already  stated. 

One  of  these  branches  leads  to  Guise,  the  other  to  La  Fere. 

The  houses  to  be  destroyed  lay  on  each  side  of  this  road, 
and  on  each  of  its  branches. 

The  little  troop,  once  out  of  the  city,  had  therefore  to 
divide  itself  into  two  bands:  one  attacking  on  the  right, 
the  other  on  the  left,  and  setting  fire  to  the  houses  at  the 
same  time. 

Gruillaume  and  Jean  Pauquet,  who  knew  the  localities, 
took  charge  of  these  two  bands. 

At  half-past  six  the  gate  of  the  Faubourg  d'Isle  was 
opened,  and  the  little  troop  marched  out  at  double  quick. 

But  secret  as  had  been  the  gathering,  quick  as  had  been 
the  sortie,  the  gathering  had  been  signalled  by  the  sentries, 
and  the  sortie  anticipated  by  Carondelet  and  Julian  Eomeron. 


The  result  was  that  at  the  opening  of  each  street  the 
French  found  a  platoon  of  Spaniards  double  their  number, 
and  that  from  each  window  there  was  a  hail  of  death  upon 

But  still,  such  was  the  impetuosity  of  their  shock  that 
the  platoons  of  Spaniards  defending  the  two  streets  were 
broken,  and,  in  spite  of  the  fire  from  the  windows,  five  or 
six  houses  were  invaded. 

No  need  of  saying  that  Malemort,  shouting,  howling, 
cursing,  and,  above  all,  striking,  had  managed  to  make  his 
way  to  the  head  of  the  two  columns,  and  to  be  the  first  to 
enter  one  of  the  houses. 

Once  in  the  house,  it  is  useless  to  say  that  Malemort 
forgot  he  was  there  to  burn  it;  and,  rushing  up  the  stair- 
case, he  gained  the  upper  story. 

On  the  other  hand,  those  who  came  with  him  forgot  that 
he  had  entered  before  them,  and,  remembering  only  their 
orders,  piled  up  fagots  in  the  lower  rooms,  and  especially 
at  the  foot  of  the  staircase. 

They  then  set  fire  to  them. 

The  same  happened  to  two  or  three  houses  lining  the 

The  Spaniards  had  at  first  supposed  the  attack  to  be  an 
ordinary  sortie ;  but  they  soon  guessed  the  aim  of  the  French 
from  the  clouds  of  smoke  escaping  from  the  ground- floors. 

Then  they  united  all  their  efforts,  and,  being  ten  times 
superior  to  the  little  troop,  they  repulsed  it. 

But  the  latter  had  at  least  been  partially  successful: 
flames  were  beginning  to  issue  from  the  roofs  of  two  or 
three  houses. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  Yvonnet,  not  having  been 
one  of  those  selected  for  the  sortie,  had  had  the  idea  of 
utilizing  his  time  by  visiting  Mademoiselle  Gudule,  whose 
terrors  he  calmed;  these  terrors  were  great,  for,  as  we  have 
said,  the  father  and  uncle  of  the  young  girl  acted  as  guides 
on  this  occasion. 

For  a  moment  the  cries,  shouts,  noise  of  the  fusillade 


were  so  loud  that  Yvonnet  himself  was  anxious  to  learn 
what  was  passing,  and  crept  into  the  garret,  accompanied 
by  the  young  girl,  who  followed  him  like  his  shadow,  a 
little  through  fear,  but  much  through  love. 

Then,  through  a  dormer  window,  he  could  form  some 
idea  of  what  was  going  on. 

The  firing  from  the  arquebuses  never  ceased ;  and,  at  the 
same  time,  the  clash  of  steel  against  steel  showed  that  there 
was  a  hand-to-hand  conflict  in  the  streets. 

This  was  not  all.  As  we  have  said,  the  smoke  issued 
through  the  roofs  of  four  or  five  houses,  and  in  the  midst 
of  the  smoke  human  beings  were  seen  going  and  coming 
quite  scared. 

These  were  the  Spaniards,  surprised  by  the  conflagra- 
tion, and  who,  as  the  stairs  were  burning,  could  not  de- 
scend from  the  upper  stories  of  the  houses. 

It  was  easily  seen  that  the  Spaniards  in  the  houses  were  in 
great  fear ;  but,  in  one  case,  this  fear  rose  to  absolute  dismay. 

It  was  where  Malemort  was  operating,  who,  paying  no 
attention  at  all  to  the  conflagration,  was  attacking,  smiting, 
fighting,  in  the  midst  of  the  smoke. 

At  the  moment  Yvonnet  put  his  nose  out  of  the  window 
the  scene  was  passing  on  the  first  story. 

Such  of  the  Spaniards  as  preserved  some  coolness  while 
defending  this  first  story,  having  to  wrestle  at  once  with  the 
flames  and  with  a  man  who  seemed  to  be  a  demon,  at  last 
jumped  out  of  the  window. 

The  others  instinctively  retreated  to  the  second  story. 

Malemort  did  not  trouble  himself  about  those  who  leaped 
from  the  windows;  but  he  pursued  those  who  fled  to  the 
second  story,  howling  his  favorite  cry,  "A  fight!" 

During  all  this  time  the  devouring  element  was  doing  its 
office,  Malemort  was  pursuing  the  Spaniards,  and  the  fire 
was  pursuing  Malemort. 

Doubtless  the  adventurer  owed  his  by  no  means  usual 
invulnerability  this  time  to  the  powerful  ally  marching  be- 
hind him,  to  whom  he  evidently  paid  no  attention. 


Soon  the  smoke  obscured  the  second  story,  as  it  had 
the  first,  and  the  fire  darted  its  tongues  of  flame  through 
the  floor. 

One  or  two  Spaniards,  braving  the  danger  of  the  fall, 
jumped  through  the  windows  of  the  second  story  just  as 
their  comrades  had  jumped  through  those  of  the  first. 
Others  tried  to  escape  by  the  roof. 

Two  men  and  the  half  of  a  third  man  succeeded  in  get- 
ting through  a  dormer  window;  we  say  the  half  of  a  third 
man,  because  the  latter  seemed  to  have  been  brought  to 
a  halt,  and  showed  unmistakably  by  the  expression  of  his 
countenance  that  things  were  happening  to  that  part  of  his 
body  remaining  behind  which  were  very  disagreeable. 

Malemort  was,  in  fact,  dealing  that  inactive  portion  of 
the  human  frame  fearful  blows  with  his  sword. 

The  Spaniard,  after  making  vain  attempts  to  join  his 
companions  running  along  the  roofs,  fell  back,  and,  in  spite 
of  a  final  effort  to  hang  on  to  the  sill  of  the  window,  disap- 
peared at  last  entirely. 

Five  minutes  after  it  was  the  face  of  Malemort  that  ap- 
peared at  the  dormer  window,  instead  of  that  of  the  Span- 
iard. The  new  face  was  easily  recognizable  by  its  linen 
mask — a  souvenir  of  the  last  battle  of  the  owner,  which  ap- 
peared at  the  window  instead  of  that  of  the  Spaniard. 

He  saw  his  two  enemies  flying,  and  was  setting  out  in 

Malemort  might  have  been  taken  for  a  tiler  or  a  rope- 
dancer,  so  steadily  did  he  tread  the  narrow  path. 

If  he  had  been  a  Mussulman  his  shadow  would  undoubt- 
edly have  crossed,  without  the  aid  of  a  balancing  pole,  that 
bridge  of  Mahomet's  Paradise  which  leads  from  earth  to 
heaven,  and  is  not  broader  than  the  edge  of  a  razor. 

The  two  fugitives  soon  saw  the  danger  that  menaced  them. 

One  of  them  came  to  a  decision  immediately:  at  the 
risk  of  breaking  his  legs,  he  slid  down  the  slope  of  the 
roof,  seized  the  border  of  the  window,  and  slipped  through 
into  the  room  below. 


This  house,  though  placed  between  two  fires,  had  so  far 

Malemort  did  not  bother  himself  about  the  Spaniard  who 
had  so  far  succeeded  in  his  perilous  slide,  and  continued  his 
pursuit  of  the  one  who  remained. 

From  their  observatory  Yvonnet  and  Gudule  followed 
the  course  of  these  aerial  gymnastics — Yvonnet  with  all  the 
interest  such  a  spectacle  would  naturally  produce  in  a  man, 
Gudule  with  all  the  terror  it  must  excite  in  a  woman. 

In  this  fashion  the  two  acrobats,  going  from  house  to 
house,  gained  the  last  roof,  which,  like  many  of  our  old 
buildings,  seemed  to  lean  forward  in  order  to  admire  itself 
in  the  river. 

This  house  was  of  wood,  and  was  burning  on  all  sides. 

Arrived  at  the  extremity  of  the  roof,  and,  seeing  that 
he  could  not  go  further,  except  Saint- James,  the  patron  of 
Spain,  lent  him  wings,  the  fugitive,  who  doubtless  did  not 
know  how  to  swim,  turned  back,  resolved  to  sell  his  life 

The  struggle  began;  but  at  the  moment  it  reached  its 
highest  degree  of  fury  the  roof  cracked  to  give  exit  to  the 
smoke  first,  and  the  flames  afterward;  then  it  tottered, 
then  sank,  burying  both  combatants  in  its  frightful 

One  of  them  disappeared  entirely.  The  other  hung  on  to 
a  rafter  that,  though  burning,  was  still  solid,  recovered  his 
centre  of  gravity,  made  his  way,  all  on  fire,  to  the  extremity 
of  the  rafter,  and  then,  launching  himself  from  the  top  of 
a  second  story,  threw  himself  into  the  Somme. 

Gudule  uttered  a  loud  cry;  Yvonnet  almost  flung  him- 
self out  of  the  window ;  for  a  moment  both  hardly  breathed. 
Was  the  bold  plunger  engulfed  forever,  or  was  he  going  to 
reappear  ? 

Then,  the  second  question,  was  it  the  Spaniard,  or  was  it 
Malemort  ? 

Soon  the  surface  of  the  water  bubbled,  and  a  head  was 
seen  to  appear,  then  arms,  then  a  torso,  which  swam,  ac- 


cording  to  the  flow  of  the  water,  evidently  with  the  design 
of  landing  behind  the  old  wall. 

The  moment  the  swimmer  took  this  direction,  it  was 
pretty  certain  it  was  Malemort. 

Yvonnet  and  Ghidule  descended  rapidly,  and  ran  to  the 
point  where  the  swimmer,  in  all  probability,  was  going  to 
land.  And,  in  fact,  they  arrived  just  in  time  to  drag  out 
of  the  water,  half  burned,  half  drowned,  the  furious  fighter, 
who,  utterly  exhausted,  fainted  in  their  arms,  and  bran- 
dished his  sword,  shouting,  "Battle!  battle!" 

Bad  as  was  Malemort 's  case,  every  one  did  not  get  off  as 
well  as  he  did. 

.Repulsed,  as  we  have  said,  by  the  old  Spanish  band  of 
Carondelet  and  Don  Julian,  the  soldiers  and  bourgeois,  after 
succeeding  in  burning  two  or  three  houses,  not  having  been 
able  to  retreat  in  as  orderly  a  manner  as  was  desirable,  were 
huddled  together  at  the  old  wall  in  a  manner  that  gave  the 
Spaniards  a  chance  of  having  their  revenge. 

Thirty  soldiers  and  twenty  townsmen  remained  on  the 
square ;  and  for  a  time  it  looked  as  if  the  Spaniards  would 
enter  pell-mell  with  those  they  were  pursuing.  Yvonnet 
heard  the  cries  of  the  Spaniards,  who  were  already  howl- 
ing, "The  city  is  taken!"  He  ran  to  the  tent  of  the  adven- 
turers, all  the  time  shouting,  "To  arms!"  and  returned  with 
a  reinforcement  of  a  hundred  men — one  part  of  whom  scat- 
tered along  the  ramparts,  while  the  other  rushed  upon  the 
enemy,  already  under  the  vault. 

But  at  the  head  of  those  who  rushed  to  the  aid  of  the 
faubourg  were  the  two  Scharfensteins,  armed,  the  one  with 
his  club,  the  other  with  his  two-handed  sword.  The  blows 
fell  upon  the  Spaniards  thick  as  those  of  the  flail  upon  the 
threshing-floor,  and  all  had  to  recoil  before  the  two  giants. 

Once  the  Spaniards  were  driven  out  of  the  vault,  the 
question  was  to  close  the  gates.  Now,  this  was  not  a  thing 
easily  done,  for  the  enemy  opposed  it  with  all  their  might- 
some  holding  the  doors  back  with  their  hands,  others  with 
the  butts  of  their  muskets.  But  the  two  Scharfensteins 

302       THE  PAGE  OF  THE  DUKE  OF  SAVOY 

managed  to  get  between  the  combatants  and  the  wall;  and, 
stiffening  themselves  against  it,  they  gradually,  bnt  irresis- 
tibly, succeeded  in  bringing  the  folds  of  the  door  together, 
and  shot  the  bolts  across  them. 

This  task  accomplished,  they  breathed  noisily  and  in 
such  perfect  unison  that  it  almost  looked  as  if  these  two 
bodies  had  but  a  single  pair  of  lungs. 

But  the  two  giants  had  hardly  regained  their  normal 
condition,  when  a  cry  of  terror  resounded,  ' k  To  the  walls ! 
to  the  walls!" 

Two  breaches  had,  in  fact,  been  made  in  the  wall,  one  on 
each  side  of  the  gate,  with  the  object  of  transporting  from 
that  quarter  the  earth  needed  for  constructing  certain  plat- 
forms for  artillery ;  these  breaches  had  been  closed  up  with 
bales  of  wool,  etc. 

Now,  when  the  besiegers  were  driven  from  the  gate,  they 
bethought  themselves  of  the  breaches,  and  hoped  to  carry 
the  city  by  making  a  sudden  dash  on  them. 

The  two  Scharfensteins,  on  rushing  out  of  the  vault,  had 
only  to  cast  a  glance  round  them  to  judge  of  the  imminence 
of  the  peril.  In  spite  of  their  usual  custom  of  fighting 
together,  a  division  of  their  strength  was,  in  the  circum- 
stances, so  urgent  that,  after  exchanging  a  few  words  with 
their  usual  laconic  sobriety,  the  uncle  ran  to  the  breach  on 
the  right,  the  nephew  to  the  breach  on  the  left. 

The  enemy,  being  supplied  with  those  long  pikes  which, 
at  the  time,  formed  the  regular  weapon  of  the  Spanish  in- 
fantry, were  mounting  .to  the  assault  of  both  breaches, 
driving  citizens  and  soldiers  before  that  forest  of  steel. 

Heinrich  Scharfenstein,  for  the  moment  proprietor  of  the 
mace,  saw  that  this  short  heavy  weapon  would  be  almost 
useless  against  the  Spanish  pikes  ten  feet  long;  he  hung  his 
mace  to  his  belt,  and,  without  ever  slackening  his  course, 
picked  up  a  huge  block  of  stone  lying  on  the  rampart,  and 
ran  with  this  enormous  mass  to  the  breach,  crying,  "Look 

It  was  the  breach  at  which  Yvonnet  was  fighting. 


The  latter  saw  him,  and  divined  his  intention.  With 
a  sweep  of  his  sword  he  kept  back  his  comrades,  and  gave 
free  course  to  the  Spaniards  who  were  mounting  the  breach; 
but,  the  moment  they  were  half-way  up  on  the  wall,  the 
German  giant  made  his  appearance  on  the  top  of  the  breach, 
raised  above  his  head  the  block  he  had  until  now  carried 
on  his  shoulder,  and,  combining  all  the  impetus  of  his 
strength  with  the  natural  weight  of-  the  projectile,  he 
launched  it  on  the  first  ranks  of  the  Spaniards  with  a 
violence  that  no  catapult  ever  constructed  could  surpass. 

The  rock  descended,  bounding  through  the  dense  col- 
umn, breaking,  crushing,  pulverizing  everything  it  met  on 
its  way. 

Then,  through  the  road  opened  for  him,  Heinrich  rushed 
with  his  terrible  mace,  and,  striking  right  and  left,  soon 
made  an  end  of  those  whom  the  gigantic  block  had  spared 
or  had  only  half  reached. 

In  less  than  ten  minutes  this  breach  was  cleared  of  the 

Franz  had  also  wrought  deeds  equally  marvellous. 

He,  too,  had  cried  to  the  soldiers  and  citizens  to  look 
out,  and  at  his  voice  their  ranks  had  opened;  then  with  his 
great  two-handed  sword  he  began  to  mow  down  that  harvest 
of  lances,  with  every  stroke  cutting  off  five  or  six  pike- 
heads,  as  easily  as  Tarquin,  in  the  garden  of  Gabiae,  hewed 
off  the  heads  of  the  poppies  in  presence  of  his  son's  mes- 
senger. Then,  when  he  had  now  before  him  men  armed 
with  sticks  only,  he  flung  himself  into  the  Spanish  ranks, 
and  began  mowing  down  men  with  the  same  fury  he  had 
until  now  shown  in  mowing  down  lances. 

Consequently,  the  Spaniards  were  baffled  at  this  point  also. 

But  an  unforeseen  incident  was  very  nearly  making 
Franz  lose  all  the  fruit  of  the  glorious  succor  he  had  just 
brought  to  the  people  of  Saint- Quentin. 

A  man,  more  ardent  even  than  himself  after  the  human 
quarry,,  slipped  under  his  arm,  shouting,  "Battle!"  and 
rushed  in  pursuit  of  the  Spaniards. 


It  was  Malemort,  who,  after  regaining  consciousness,  had 
swallowed  a  bottle  of  wine  given  him  by  Gudule,  and  at 
once  returned  to  the  charge. 

Unfortunately,  two  or  three  of  those  he  was  pursuing, 
seeing  that  they  were  followed  by  only  a  single  man,  turned 
round,  and  although,  as  the  heads  of  their  pikes  had  been 
lopped  off,  their  only  weapons  were  a  sort  of  stick,  one  of 
them  with  a  blow  of  his  stick  knocked  down  and  utterly 
stunned  Malemort. 

Citizens  and  soldiers  uttered  a  cry  of  regret;  they  be- 
lieved the  brave  adventurer  dead.  Luckily  Franz  had 
made  certain  observations  on  the  thickness  of  his  com- 
rade's skull.  He  ran  up  to  him,  with  one  stroke  of  his 
formidable  sword  split  the  head  of  the  Spaniard,  who  was 
about  to  finish  Malemort  with  his  dagger,  took  his  com- 
panion by  the  foot,  and  hurried  with  him  to  the  breach, 
where  he  flung  him.  Then  Malemort  began  to  open  his 
eyes,  murmuring,  "Battle!"  in  the  arms  of  Lactance,  who 
ran  up  with  his  Jacobins. 

Behind  the  monks  came  the  admiral,  at  the  head  of  a 
small  band  of  select  arquebusiers ;  these  opened  such  a  well- 
directed  fire  on  the  exterior  boulevard  and  on  such  houses 
as  still  remained  standing,  that  the  Spaniards  were  forced 
to  get  under  cover,  and  for  some  time  kept  very  quiet. 

The  admiral  then  investigated  the  condition  of  affairs: 
the  loss  had  been  very  great,  and  the  Faubourg  d'Isle 
escaped  being  carried  by  storm  only  by  a  very  narrow 
chance.  Many  captains  did  their  best  to  persuade  the  ad- 
miral to  abandon  this  point,  the  defence  of  which  had  so  far 
cost  the  garrison  and  the  citizens  combined  a  loss  of  over 
threescore  men;  but  Coligny  was  firm:  he  was  convinced 
that  the  prolongation  of  the  siege,  perhaps  the  safety  of 
the  city,  depended  on  the  occupation  of  this  suburb. 

He  gave  orders  that  every  effort  should  be  made  during 
the  approaching  night  to  repair  the  two  breaches  and  do 
whatever  else  could  be  done  for  the  safety  of  the  quarter. 

The  Jacobins,  whose  sombre  monastic  habits  rendered 


them  less  noticeable  in  the  darkness,  were  assigned  to  this 
duty,  which  they  performed  with  the  impassive  courage 
of  monastic  devotion. 

As  a  nocturnal  attack  was  feared,  the  arquebusiers 
watched  on  the  rampart;  while,  to  give  the  alarm,  in 
case  the  enemy  might  think  of  turning  the  old  wall,  sen- 
tries were  stationed  at  intervals  of  twenty  yards  along 
the  entire  line  of  the  marshes  of  the  Somme. 

It  was  a  terrible  night  for  the  city  of  Saint- Quentin,  this 
night  of  the  3d  and  4th  of  August — a  night  when  it  had  to 
bewail  the  loss  of  its  first  dead ! 

So  every  one  watched  over  his  house  and  quarter  with 
the  same  zeal  with  which  the  sentries  watched  over  the 
Faubourg  d'Isle. 

The  poor  inhabitants  of  the  faubourg,  understanding  that 
the  hottest  part  of  the  attack  and  defence  would  be  there, 
were  quitting  their  houses,  dragging  after  them  in  carts  or 
hand- barrows  their  most  valuable  possessions.  Among  the 
emigrants  who  abandoned  the  faubourg  for  the  city  was 
Gruillaume  Pauquet,  whose  brother  Jean  offered  him  the 
hospitality  of  his  house,  situated  at  the  angle  made  by 
the  Eue  du  Yieux-Marche*  and  the  Eue  des  Arbaletriers. 

His  daughter  Grudule,  still  stunned  by  the  events  of  the 
day,  entered  the  city,  leaning  on  his  arm;  she  turned  her 
head  from  time  to  time,  saying  to  herself  it  was  from  her 
sorrow  at  seeing  abandoned  to  certain  destruction  the  house 
in  which  she  was  born,  but  in  reality  to  make  sure  that  the 
handsome  Yvonnet  was  not  losing  sight  of  her. 

In  fact,  Yvonnet  was  following,  at  a  reasonable  distance, 
the  bourgeois,  his  daughter,  and  the  weavers  whom  Jean 
Pauquet  had  lent  his  brother  to  help  him  in  transporting 
his  furniture,  and  who  were  conscientiously  acquitting  them- 
selves of  their  duty. 

It  was,  then,  a  great  consolation  for  poor  Grudule  to  see 
the  young  man  crossing  Saint- Quentin  through  its  entire 
length,  bisecting  the  square  of  the  Hotel  de  Yille,  follow- 
ing the  Eue  Sainte- Marguerite,  the  Eue  du  Yieux-Marche, 


and,  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  aux  Pourceaux,  saw  him  enter 
her  uncle's  house,  known  by  its  sign  of  the  Navette  couronnee. 

Under  pretence  of  great  fatigue — and  the  pretence  was 
plausible  after  such  a  day — Gudule  asked  leave  to  retire  at 
once  to  her  room,  and  she  was  permitted  to  do  so  without 
further  remark. 

Gudule  really  began  to  believe  that  there  was  a  special 
providence  for  lovers  when  she  saw  that  the  lodging  in- 
tended by  her  uncle  for  her  and  her  father  was  a  kind 
of  little  pavilion,  forming  the  angle  of  the  garden,  and 
opening  on  the  road  running  along  the  rampart. 

So  as  soon  as  she  found  herself  alone  in  her  new  domi- 
cile, her  first  care  was  to  extinguish  the  lamp,  as  if  she  had 
gone  to  bed,  and  open  the  window,  in  order  to  explore  the 
neighborhood,  and  see  what  facility  this  window  could  offer 
to  a  nimble  climber. 

The  facility  was  great :  this  portion  of  the  rampart,  which 
extended  between  the  gate  of  the  Vieux-Marche  and  the 
tower  Dameuse,  was  certainly  the  most  deserted  in  the  city. 
A  rope-ladder  eight  or  ten  feet  high  would  perform  for  the 
pavilion  of  the  Rue  des  Arbaletriers  the  same  office  per- 
formed by  the  post  at  the  house  in  the  Faubourg  d'Isle. 

It  is  true  the  partitions  separating  the  room  of  Grudule 
from  the  room  of  Guillaume  were  very  slight,  and  the  slight- 
est noise  in  her  chamber  would  be  likely  to  arouse  paternal 
suspicion;  but,  the  ladder  of  ropes  once  suitably  fixed,  what 
should  hinder  Gudule  from  descending  on  the  rampart  in- 
stead of  Yvonnet  mounting  to  her  chamber  ? 

By  this  arrangement  either  the  lovers  would  have  very 
bad  luck,  or  the  chamber,  remaining  solitary,  would  be 
necessarily  noiseless  and  voiceless. 

Gudule  was  plunged  into  all  these  strategetical  combina- 
tions which  for  the  moment,  made  of  her  a  tactician  almost 
as  able  as  the  admiral  himself,  when  she  saw  a  shadow  glide 
along  the  garden  wall. 

Yvonnet  was  also  engaged  in  a  tour  of  explorations,  and 
reconnoitring  the  new  field  of  battle  on  which  he  was  to 


manoeuvre.  It  was  not  a  siege  difficult  to  make,  was  this 
of  Maitre  Pauquet's  house,  particularly  for  a  man  who,  like 
our  adventurer,  had  a  spy  in  the  place. 

Consequently,  everything  was  arranged  for  the  following 
night  without  any  difficulty. 

Then,  as  the  footsteps  of  Gruillaume  Pauquet  were  heard 
on  the  staircase,  falling  a  little  heavy  on  account  of  the  fa- 
tigue of  the  day,  Gudule  closed  her  window,  and  YVonnet 
disappeared  through  the  Rue  Saint- Jean. 


DAYBREAK  found  the  admiral  on  the  rampart.  Far 
from  being  cast  down  by  the  check  of  the  evening 
before,  Graspard  de  Coligny  decided  that  a  fresh 
attempt  should  be  made. 

In  his  opinion,  the  enemy  was  aware  that  the  city  had 
received  a  reinforcement,  but  was  utterly  ignorant  of  its 
extent.  They  must  try  to  convince  the  Spaniards  that 
this  reinforcement  was  much  larger  than  it  was  in  reality. 

Emmanuel  Philibert  might  thus  be  led  to  undertake  a 
regular  siege,  if  he  were  forced  to  believe  that  the  city 
could  not  be  taken  by  a  surprise ;  now  a  regular  siege  was 
a  respite  for  ten  days,  for  a  fortnight,  perhaps  for  a  month, 
and  during  that  period  the  constable  would  make  an  attempt 
to  relieve  them,  or  the  king  would  have  leisure  to  adopt  the 
measures  required  by  the  circumstances. 

He  therefore  summoned  M.  de  Theligny,  the  young  lieu- 
tenant of  the  Dauphin's  Company. 

This  officer  presented  himself  immediately.  He  had  done 
wonders  the  preceding  evening  at  the  Faubourg  d'Isle,  and 
yet  had  escaped  without  a  wound;  so  that  the  soldiers,  see- 
ing him  emerge  without  a  scratch  from  a  fusillade  of  balls, 


from  the  midst  of  swords  and  lances,  had  baptized  him  the 

He  approached  the  admiral,  gay  and  smiling,  like  a  man 
who  has  just  done  his  duty,  and  is  ready  to  do  it  again.  The 
admiral  led  him  behind  the  parapet  of  one  of  the  towers. 

"M.  de  Theligny, "  he  said,  "do  you  see  yon  Spanish,  post 
well  from  here  ?" 

Theligny  made  a  sign  that  he  saw  it  perfectly. 

"Well,  it  seems  to  me  it  could  be  easily  surprised  with 
thirty  or  forty  troopers.  Order  out  thirty  or  forty  men  of 
your  company,  put  a  safe  man  at  their  head,  and  carry  that 
post  for  me.7' 

"But,  M.  de  Coligny,"  asked  Theligny,  smiling,  "why 
should  I  not  be  that  safe  man  myself  who  is  to  command 
the  sortie  ?  I  confess  I  believe  every  one  of  my  officers  to 
be  a  safe  man;  but  I  am  also  pretty  certain,  for  very  differ- 
ent reasons,  that  I  am  a  safe  man  myself. ' ' 

The  admiral  laid  a  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"My  dear  Theligny,"  he  said,  "men  of  your  character 
are  rare;  they  ought  not,  therefore,  to  be  exposed  to  the 
risk  of  falling  in  a  mere  skirmish.  Give  me  your  word  of 
honor  that  you  will  not  command  this  sortie,  or  I  remain 
on  the  rampart,  half  dead  with  fatigue  though  I  am. ' ' 

"If  that  is  the  case,  M.  1'Amiral, "  said  Theligny,  bow- 
ing, "retire,  take  some  repose,  and  allow  me  to  conduct 
this  enterprise:  I  pledge  you  my  word  not  to  leave  the 
city  gate." 

"I  count  on  your  word,  monsieur,"  said  Coligny, 

Then,  as  if  he  wished  to  have  it  understood  that  the 
gravity  of  his  voice  and  face  was  only  due  to  this  recom- 
mendation not  to  leave  the  city — 

"As  for  myself,  my  dear  Theligny, "  he  added,  "I  do 
not  intend  returning  to  the  governor's  palace,  as  it  is  too 
far  from  here;  I  shall  go  to  M.  Jarnac's,  throw  myself  on  a 
bed,  and  sleep  for  an  hour  or  two.  You'll  find  me  there." 

"Rest  easy,  M.  1'Amiral,"  replied  Theligny;  "I  watch." 


The  admiral  descended  the  rampart  in  front  of  the  tower 
of  Ghiise,  and  entered  into  the  second  house  of  the  Eue  de 
Kemicourt,  which  was  the  one  inhabited  by  M.  de  Jarnac. 

Theligny  followed  him  with  his  eyes;  then,  turning 
toward  an  ensign — 

''Thirty  or  forty  men  of  goodwill  of  the  Company  of 
the  Dauphin!"  he  said. 

"You  shall  have  them  on  the  instant,  lieutenant!" 
replied  the  ensign. 

"How  can  that  be?  I  did  not  give  any  order  until 
now. ' ' 

"It  is  true;  but  M.  de  Coligny's  words  were  caught  on 
the  wing  by  a  person  who  happened  to  be  near  you.  This 
person  at  once  ran  to  the  barracks,  shouting,  'Dauphins! 
Dauphins !  to  battle !'  " 

"And  what  sort  of  a  man  is  this  who  has  so  well  exe- 
cuted my  orders  before  they  were  given?" 

"By  my  faith,"  replied  the  ensign,  laughing,  "he  looks 
much  more  like  a  devil  than  a  man:  the  half  of  his  face  is 
covered  with  a  bloody  bandage,  his  hair  is  burned  down  to 
the  skull,  his  cuirass  is  full  of  holes  before  and  behind,  and 
his  clothes  are  in  rags!" 

"Ah!  very  well,"  said  Theligny;  "I  know  the  fellow. 
You  are  right:  he  is  not  a  man,  he  is  a  devil!" 

' '  And  look,  lieutenant,  there  he  is, ' '  said  the  ensign. 

And  he  pointed  to  a  horseman  coming  at  full  gallop  from 
the  gate  of  Isle. 

It  was  Malemort,  half  burned,  half  drowned,  half  stunned 
in  the  sortie  of  the  evening  before,  and  who,  feeling  only  the 
better  for  it  all,  was  insisting  on  a  new  sortie. 

At  the  same  time,  from  the  opposite  side— that  is  to  say, 
debouching  on  the  Rue  du  Billon,  at  the  extremity  of  which 
was  a  barracks — a  little  band  of  forty  horsemen  was  ad- 

With  the  activity  which  distinguished  him  when  there 
was  question  of  giving  or  receiving  blows,  Malemort  had 
found  time  to  run  to  the  quarter,  make  known  the  inten- 


tions  of  the  admiral,  gain  the  gate  of  Isle,  saddle  his  horse, 
and  return  to  the  gate  of  Bemicourt,  where  he  arrived,  as 
we  see,  at  the  same  time  as  the  horsemen  of  the  Dauphin's 

All  the  return  he  asked  for  the  zeal  and  activity  he  had 
just  displayed  was  the  favor  of  being  allowed  to  form  part 
of  the  expedition,  and  this  was  granted  him. 

Moreover,  he  had  declared  that  if  he  were  not  allowed 
to  join  the  principal  sortie,  he  would  make  one  on  his  own 
account;  and  if  the  gates  were  not  opened  for  him,  he  would 
jump  down  from  the  rampart. 

Only  Theligny,  who  knew  what  he  was  from  having  seen 
him  at  work  the  evening  before,  advised  him  not  to  separate 
from  the  principal  body  and  to  charge  in  the  ranks. 

Malemort  promised  all  he  was  asked  to  do. 

The. gate  was  opened,  and  the  little  troop  issued  forth. 

But  no  sooner  was  Malemort  outside  of  the  gate  than  he 
rode  in  a  straight  line  across  the  country  at  a  furious  gallop, 
and  shouting  "Battle!"  being  carried  away  by  the  fury 
which  possessed  him,  and  not  being  able  to  restrict  him- 
self to  the  road  followed  by  his  companions,  which,  under 
cover  of  trees  and  from  the  favorable  lay  of  the  ground,  was 
to  bring  the  forty  horsemen  quite  close  to  the  Spanish 

During  this  time  the  admiral,  as  he  had  expressed  his 
intention  of  doing,  had  retired  to  the  house  of  M.  de  Jarnac, 
and  thrown  himself  on  a  bed;  but,  harassed  by  a  sort  of  pre- 
sentiment; and,  in  spite  of  his  fatigue,  not  being  able  to 
sleep,  he  got  up  at  the  end  of  half  an  hour,  and,  thinking 
he  heard  cries  from  the  rampart,  he  seized  his  sword  and 
scabbard  and  went  out  hastily. 

He  had  scarcely  taken  twenty  steps  in  the  Eue  de  Remi- 
court  when  he  saw  MM.  de  Luzarches  and  de  Jarnac  run- 
ning toward  him.  It  was  easy  guessing  from  their  alarmed 
appearance  that  something  serious  had  occurred. 

"Ah!"  said  M.  de  Jarnac,  "you  know  already?" 

"Know  what?"  asked  Coligny. 


The  two  officers  looked  at  each  other. 

"You  did  not  know,"  said  M.  de  Luzarches;  "why,  then, 
did  you  come  out?" 

' '  I  could  not  sleep ;  I  felt  a  kind  of  presentiment.  When 
I  heard  cries  I  rose,  and  so  here  I  am. ' ' 

"Come,  then!" 

And  the  two  officers  rapidly  ascended  the  rampart  with 
the  admiral. 

The  rampart  was  thronged  with  spectators. 

This  is  what  had  taken  place. 

The  premature  attack  of  Malemort  had  given  the  alarm. 
The  Spanish  post  was  more  numerous  than  had  been  im- 
agined; the  soldiers  and  officers  of  the  Dauphin's  Company, 
who  thought  they  were  going  to  surprise  the  enemy,  found 
the  enemy  on  horseback,  and  double  their  number.  At  this 
sight  the  charge  slackened;  some  horsemen  turned  rein,  the 
cowardly  abandoning  the  brave.  The  latter  were  engaged 
with  forces  so  superior  in  numbers  that  without  reinforce- 
ments they  must  give  •  way.  Theligny  forgot  his  word 
pledged  to  the  admiral:  with  no  weapon  but  his  sword, 
he  jumped  on  the  first  horse  within  his  reach,  dashed 
through  the  gate,  and  called  on  those  who  had  turned 
rein  not  to  desert  their  companions;  some  of  them  rallied 
to  him,  and  with  nine  or  ten  men  he  threw  himself  into  the 
middle  of  the  Spaniards,  hoping  to  make  a  diversion. 

An  instant  after,  all  that  was  left  of  the  forty  troopers 
was  flying  toward  the  city. 

Their  number  was  diminished  by  a  third,  and  M.  de 
Theligny  was  not  with  them. 

It  was  then  MM.  de  Jarnac  and  de  Luzarches,  judging 
it  necessary  to  inform  the  admiral  of  this  new  check,  had 
run  to  the  house  in  which  he  was  supposed  to  be  taking 
a  little  rest,  and  had  met  him  half-way  from  it. 

All  three  were  now  on  the  rampart  commanding  the 
theatre  of  the  catastrophe. 

Coligny  questioned  the  fugitives ;  they  told  him  what  we 
have  just  related. 


They  could  tell  nothing  certain  about  M.  de  Theligny; 
they  had  seen  him  fall  on  the  Spaniards  like  a  thunderbolt, 
and  strike  the  Spanish  officer  on  the  face  with  his  sword; 
but  he  was  then  at  once  surrounded,  and  as  he  did  not  carry 
any  offensive  weapon,  he  fell  at  the  end  of  a  few  seconds, 
pierced  with  wounds. 

But  one  soldier  insisted  that,  all  weaponless  and  wounded 
as  M.  de  Theligny  was,  that  brave  officer  was  still  alive,  be- 
cause he  saw  him  make  a  movement  as  if  to  call  for  help 
at  the  moment  he  was  galloping  by  him. 

Although  his  hope  was  a  feeble  one,  the  admiral  ordered 
the  officers  of  the  Dauphin's  Company  to  make  an  effort,  at 
any  risk,  to  bring  back  M.  de  Theligny,  dead  or  alive. 

The  officers  wanted  nothing  better  than  the  chance  of 
avenging  their  comrade;  they  were  already  making  for  the 
barracks,  when  a  sort  of  Goliath  issued  from  the  crowd, 
and,  bearing  his  hand  to  his  helmet,  said — 

"Excuse  me,  Meinherr  Admiral;  there  is  no  need  of  a 
company  to  find  the  poor  lieutenant,  If  you  like,  Meinherr 
Admiral,  I  and  my  nephew  Franz  will  go  in  search  of  him, 
and  are  sure  to  bring  him  back,  dead  or  alive!" 

The  admiral  turned  toward  the  author  of  this  worthy 
proposal:  he  was  one  of  those  adventurers  he  had  taken 
into  his  service  without  reckoning  too  much  on  them,  but 
who,  in  the  few  encounters  he  witnessed  them  in,  had  cer- 
tainly done  noble  service. 

He  recognized  Heinrich  Sclmrfenstein ;  four  paces  be- 
hind him  Franz  was  standing,  like  his  shadow,  in  the  same 

He  had  seen  both  the  evening  before,  each  defending 
one  of  the  breaches  of  the  Faubourg  d'Isle;  a  glance  had 
been  enough  to  enable  him  to  judge  of  their  value. 

"Yes,  my  brave  fellow,  I  accept.  What  do  you  ask  for 

"I  ask  a  horse  for  myself,  and  another  for  my  nephew 

"But  that  is  not  what  I   mean." 


"Well,  let  us  see.  Yes,  I  want  two  men  to  ride  be- 
hind us.'' 

"Be  it  so;  what  next?" 

"Next?  That's  all.  Except  it  would  be  well  to  have 
the  horses  fat  and  the  men  lean. ' ' 

"Well,  you  can  choose  the  men  and  horses  yourself." 

"Grood!"  said  Heinrich. 

' '  But  I  meant  about  the  reward. ' ' 

"Oh!  as  for  the  money  part,  that's  Procope's  affair." 

"Procope  has  nothing  to  do  with  this,"  said  the  admiral. 
"I  promise  for  Theligny  alive,  a  gratuity  of  fifty  crowns, 
and  for  Theligny  dead,  a  gratuity  of  twenty-five." 

"Oh,  oh!"  said  Heinrich,  laughing  with  his  big  laugh, 
"I'll  search  as  long  as  you  like  at  such  a  price  as  that!" 

"Well,  then,  go,"  said  the  admiral,  "and  lose  no 

"At  once,  Meinherr  Admiral!  at  once!" 

And,  in  fact,  Heinrich  began  at  once  to  select  the  horses. 
The  ones   he   preferred   were   the   heavy  cavalry  animals, 
stoutly  built,  vigorous,  and  solid  on  their  limbs. 
Then  he  began  the  inspection  of  men. 

Suddenly  he  uttered  an  exclamation  of  joy;  he  had  just 
perceived  Lactance  on  one  side,  and  Fracasso  on  the  other. 
A  pentient  and  a  poet  were  the  two  leanest  things  Heinrich 
knew  in  the  world. 

The  admiral  did  not  know  what  to  think  of  all  these 
preparations;  but  he  felt  he  might  rely,  if  not  on  the  intel- 
ligence, at  least  on  the  instinct  of  the  two  giants.  The  four 
adventurers  descended  the  talus  of  the  rampart,  disappeared 
under  the  vault  of  the  gate  of  Remicourt;  then,  a  moment 
after,  the  gate  being  opened  for  them,  they  reappeared,  two 
on  each  horse,  but  taking  all  the  precautions  as  to  shade 
and  shelter  possible — advantages  neglected  by  Malemort. 

Then  they  were  lost  behind  a  little  eminence  rising  to 
the  right  of  the  mill  of  La  Couture. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  express  the  interest  that  at- 
tached to  this  expedition  of  four  men  going  to  dispute 


a  dead  body  with  a  whole  army,  for  the  opinion  of  the  least 
pessimistic  was  now  that  Theligny  must  be  really  dead. 

So  that  the  silence  observed  by  the  three  or  four  hundred 
persons  packed  on  the  rampart  as  long  as  the  four  adven- 
turers were  in  sight  continued  after  they  disappeared  behind 
the  hill. 

It  almost  looked  as  if  this  crowd  feared,  by  a  word,  by 
a  breath,  by  a  movement,  to  awaken  the  watchfulness  of 
the  enemy. 

At  the  end  of  an  instant  a  volley  was  heard  from  eight 
or  ten  arquebuses. 

Every  heart  gave  a  bound. 

Almost  at  the  same  moment  Franz  Scharfenstein  reap- 
peared, carrying,  not  a  man,  but  two  men,  in  his  arms. 

Behind  him  the  cavalry  and  infantry  of  the  expedition 
was  defending  the  retreat. 

The  cavalry  was  composed  only  of  a  horse  and  a  man; 
doubtless,  one  of  the  two  horses  had  been  slain  by  the  dis- 
charge they  had  just  heard. 

The  infantry  consisted  of  Fracasso  and  Lactance,  each 
armed  with  an  arquebuse. 

Eight  or  ten  Spanish  troopers  harassed  the  retreat.  But 
when  the  infantry  was  too  closely  pressed,  Heinrich  made 
a  charge  and  saved  it  by  the  terrible  blows  he  dealt  with 
his  club ;  on  the  other  hand,  if  it  was  the  cavalry  that  was 
too  closely  pressed,  two  shots  fired  from  two  arquebuses 
with  remarkable  symmetry  and  unity,  laid  two  Spaniards 
low,  and  gave  Heinrich  time  to  breathe. 

However,  Franz  was  gaining  ground,  and  in  a  few 
seconds,  thanks  to  his  enormous  strides,  he  found  himself 
beyond  the  reach  of  all  pursuit. 

There  was  a  cry  of  joy  and  admiration  when  he  began 
climbing  the  talus,  bearing  in  his  arms  these  two  bodies, 
living  men  or  corpses,  as  a  nurse  would  have  borne  two 

He  laid  one  half  of  his  burden  at  the  feet  of  the  admiral. 

"That  is  yours,"   he  said;  "he  is  not  quite  dead." 


"And  the  other?"  he  said,  pointing  to  the  second 
wounded  man. 

"Oh,  the  other,"  said  Franz,  "doesn't  matter.  It's 
Malemort.  He'll  be  himself  in  a  minute.  He  is  the  devil 
himself ;  nothing  can  kill  him. ' ' 

And  he  laughed  that  laugh  peculiar  to  uncle  and  nephew, 
which  might  have  been  called  the  laugh  of  the  Scharfen- 

At  this  moment,  the  three  other  adventurers,  cavalry 
and  infantry,  amid  wild  cheering,  entered  the  city. 

Theligny,  as  Franz  Scharfenstein  said,  was  not  yet  dead, 
although  pierced  by  seven  sword- thrusts  and  three  balls. 
His  condition  was  easily  seen,  the  Spaniards  having  stripped 
him  to  his  shirt  and  left  him  where  he  fell,  being  quite  cer- 
tain he  would  never  rise  again. 

He  was  carried  immediately  to  M.  de  Jarnac's,  and  laid 
on  the  bed,  where  the  admiral  an  hour  before  had  not  been 
able  to  rest,  being  disturbed  by  a  presentiment  of  what  had 

There,  as  if  the  wounded  man  had  only  waited  for  this 
moment,  he  opened  his  eyes,  looked  around  him,  and  recog- 
nized the  admiral. 

"A  doctor!  a  doctor!"  cried  Coligny,  quickly,  grasping 
at  a  hope  which  he  had  entirely  given  up  until  now;  but 
Theligny  stretched  out  his  hand  to  him — 

"Thanks,  M.  1'Amiral,"  he  said;  "God  permits  me  to 
open  my  eyes  once  more  and  recover  my  voice  in  order 
to  ask  you  very  humbly  to  pardon  me  for  having  dis- 
obeyed you." 

The  admiral  stopped  him. 

"Ah,  my  dear  Theligny,"  said  he,  "it  is  not  for  you  to 
ask  my  pardon,  for  if  you  have  disobeyed  me,  it  has  been 
through  excessive  zeal  for  the  king's  service;  but  if  you  are 
as  bad  as  you  think,  and  if  you  have  anything  to  ask,  ask 
it  of  God." 

"Oh,  monsieur!"  said  Theligny,  "I  have  happily  to  ask 
pardon  of  God  only  for  those  faults  which  a  gentleman  may 

(14)— Vol.  20 


confess ;  while  by  disobeying  you  I  have  committed  a  grave 
offence  against  discipline.  Forgive  me  then,  M.  1'Amiral, 
so  that  I  may  die  tranquil. ' ' 

M.  de  Coligny,  a  warm  appreciator  of  all  true  courage, 
felt  the  tears  coming  to  his  eyes  on  hearing  this  young 
officer,  who  was  on  the  point  of  abandoning  a  life  so  full 
of  fair  promise,  apparently  only  troubled  by  a  moment's 
forgetfulness  of  the  orders  of  his  general. 

' '  Since  you  insist  on  it, ' '  he  said,  ' '  I  pardon  you  a  fault 
of  which  every  brave  soldier  ought  to  be  proud,  and  if  this 
alone  disturbs  your  last  hour,  die  tranquilly  and  in  peace, 
as  died  the  Chevalier  Bayard,  the  model  of  us  all!" 

And  he  bent  down  to  imprint  a  kiss  on  the  pale  brow  of 
the  dying  young  soldier. 

The  latter  made  an  effort,  and  rose. 

The  lips  of  the  admiral  touched  the  forehead  of  the 
young  officer,  who  murmured — 


And  he  fell  back,  breathing  a  sigh. 

It  was  his  last. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Coligny,  wiping  away  a  tear,  and 
addressing  those  who  surrounded  him,  "there  is  a  brave 
soldier  the  less  in  the  world.  May  Grod  grant  us  all  such 
a  death!" 



GLORIOUS  as  had  been  the  two  checks  encountered 
by  the  admiral,  they  were  not  the  less  checks,  and 
showed  him  the  absolute  necessity  of  being  promptly 
reinforced  in  face  of  such  a  numerous  army  and  such  active 

Consequently  he  took  advantage  of  the  fact  that  the  ab- 
sence of  the  English  army  still  left  one  entire  side  of  the 
city  free  to  send  messengers  to  his  uncle,  the  constable,  in 


order  to  obtain  the  largest  reinforcements  possible.  For 
this  purpose  he  summoned  Maldent  and  Yvonnet  to  his 
presence — Yvonnet,  who  had  been  the  guide  of  poor 
Theligny,  and  Maldent,  who  had  been  his  own  guide. 

The  constable  must  be  either  at  Ham  or  at  La  Fere ;  one 
of  the  two  messengers  would  therefore  go  to  Ham,  the  other 
to  La  Fere,  to  carry  news  to  the  constable  and  point  out  the 
best  means  of  succoring  Saint- Quentin. 

This  means,  which  the  absence  of  the  English  army  ren- 
dered easy,  consisted  simply  in  despatching  a  strong  column 
by  the  Savy  highway,  which  terminates  at  the  Faubourg 
Ponthoille;  while  as  soon  as  it  made  its  appearance,  Coligny 
would  make  a  sortie  from  the  opposite  side  of  the  city  and 
keep  the  attention  of  the  enemy  engaged  until  the  advancing 
column  made  its  way  safely  into  Saint- Quentin. 

The  two  messengers  started  the  same  evening,  bearing 
each  a  pressing  request,  the  one  on  the  part  of  Malemort, 
the  other  on  that  of  the  despairing  Ghidule. 

Malemort  had  received  a  sword-thrust  in  his  side ;  luck- 
ily it  had  passed  through  an  old  scar — a  thing  which  almost 
always  happened  to  him,  for  there  was  hardly  a  part  of  his 
body  that  did  not  show  a  cicatrice.  Malemort  entreated 
his  comrade  to  bring  back  with  him  certain  herbs  absolutely 
necessary  for  the  renewal  of  that  famous  balm  of  Ferragus, 
of  which  he  consumed  such  awful  quantities. 

Gludule,  who  had  received  through  the  heart  a  thrust  in 
a  certain  sense  more  painful  and  deadly  than  that  of  Male- 
mort, recommended  Yvonnet  to  watch  with  the  greatest  care 
over  a  life  with  which  hers  was  bound  up.  While  waiting 
for  the  return  of  her  beloved  Yvonnet,  she  would  pass  all 
her  nights  at  her  window  looking  out  upon  the  rampart  of 
the  Vieux-Marche. 

Our  two  adventurers  left  through  the  gate  of  Ponthoille; 
then,  when  they  had  travelled  together  nearly  half  a  league 
on  the  road  to  Ham,  Yvonnet  struck  across  the  country  to 
reach  the  road  to  La  Fere,  while  Maldent  continued  on  that 
of  Ham. 


Yvonnet  passed  the  Somme  between  Gauchy  and  Gruois, 
and  got  on  the  La  Fere  route  at  Cerisy. 

As  it  is  at  La  Fere  the  constable  is  staying,  we  shall 
follow  Yvonnet  rather  than  Maldent. 

At  three  in  the  morning,  Yvonnet  knocked  at  the  gate 
of  the  city,  which  refused  obstinately  to  open;  however,  the 
porter,  learning  that  a  night  visitor  had  arrived  from  Saint- 
Quentin,  at  last  drew  it  back  sufficiently  to  let  him  slip 

The  order  had  been  given  by  the  constable  to  admit 
without  delay  any  messenger  coming  from  his  nephew, 
and  bring  him  before  him,  whatever  the  hour  might  be. 

At  half -past  three  in  the  morning,  the  constable  was 
roused  from  slumber. 

The  old  soldier  was  lying  in  a  bed — a  luxury  he  rarely 
allowed  himself  during  a  campaign;  but  he  had  under  the 
pillow  his  constable's  sword,  and  on  a  chair  close  to 
the  bed,  his  armor  and  helmet;  which  indicated  that  on 
the  slightest  alarm  he  would  be  able  to  attack  an  enemy 
or  defend  himself. 

Those  who  served  under  him  were,  moreover,  accus- 
tomed to  be  summoned  at  all  hours  of  the  day  or  night, 
either  to  give  their  opinion  or  to  receive  his  orders. 

Yvonnet  was  received  into  the  chamber  of  the  indefati- 
gable old  man,  who,  knowing  a  messenger  had  arrived,  was 
waiting  for  this  messenger,  half  raised  up  and  leaning  on 
his  elbow. 

Hardly  did  he  hear  the  footsteps  of  Yvonnet  than,  with 
his  ordinary  brutality,  he  said — 

"Come  forward  here  at  once,  rascal!" 

It  was  not  a  time  for  the  display  of  tender  sensibilities. 
Yvonnet  came  forward. 

"Closer,  closer,"  said  the  constable,  "until  I  see  the 
whites  of  your  eyes,  knave !  I  like  to  look  at  those  I  am 
speaking  to. ' ' 

Yvonnet  advanced  to  the  side  of  the  bed. 

"Here  I  am,  monseigneur, "    said  he. 


' '  All !  there  you  are ;  how  fortunate ! ' ' 

He  took  his  lamp  and  gazed  on  the  adventurer  with  an 
expression  that  did  not  show  the  inspection  was  favorable. 

"I  have  seen  that  sharper's  face  somewhere  already," 
said  the  constable,  speaking  to  himself. 

Then  to  Yvonnet — 

"Are  you  going  to  give  me  the  trouble  of  finding  out 
where  I  have  met  you,  rascal?  Come,  tell  me  at  once; 
you  must  remember.'* 

"And  why  should  I  remember  better  than  you,  mon- 
seigneur?"  not  being  able  to  resist  the  temptation  of  ad- 
dressing a  question  in  his  turn  to  the  constable. 

"Because,"  replied  the  old  soldier,  "you  see  a  constable 
of  France  by  chance  once  in  your  life,  while  I  see  every  day 
a  heap  of  rogues  like  you." 

' '  You  are  correct,  monseigneur, ' '  replied  Yvonnet. 
"Well,  you  saw  me  in  presence  of  the  king." 

"What!"  said  the  constable ;  "in  presence  of  the  king? 
You  visit  the  king,  then,  villain?" 

"I  have  done  so  at  least  on  the  day  I  had  the  honor 
of  seeing  you  there,  M.  le  Connetable, ' '  answered  Yvonnet, 
with  the  most  exquisite  politeness. 

' '  Hum ! ' '  muttered  the  constable.  ' '  In  fact,  I  remember ; 
you  were  with  a  young  officer  whom  my  nephew  sent  to 
the  king." 

41  With  M.  de  Theligny." 

"That's  so, "  said  the  constable.  "And  are  things  going 
on  all  right  yonder  ?" 

"On  the  contrary,  M.  le  Connetable,  things  are  going  all 

"How  all  wrong?     Take  care  of  what  you  say,  rascal!' 

"I  am  about  to  say  the  truth,  monseigneur.  The  day 
before  yesterday  we  had,  after  a  sortie  at  the  Faubourg 
d'Isle,  about  sixty  men  placed  Jwrs  de  combat.  Yesterday, 
in  trying  to  carry  a  Spanish  position  in  front  of  the  Ke'mi- 
court  gate,  we  lost  fifteen  troopers  of  the  Dauphin's  Com- 
pany and  their  lieutenant,  M.  de  Theligny— 


"Theligny!"  interrupted  the  constable,  who  believed 
himself  invulnerable,  after  surviving  so  many  engage- 
ments, battles  and  skirmishes.  "Theligny  let  himself  be 
killed?  The  fool!  What  next?" 

"The  next,  M.  le  Connetable,  is  a  letter  from  M.  1'Ami- 
ral,  asking  speedy  succor. ' ' 

"You  should  have  begun  with  that,  knave!"  said  the 
constable,  tearing  the  letter  out  of  the  hand  of  the  ad- 

And  he  read  it,  all  the  time  interrupting  himself  to  give 
orders,  as  was  his  habit — 

"  'I  shall  hold  the  Faubourg  d'Isle  as  long  as  I  can — ' 

"And  he  will  do  well,  mordieu!  Some  one  send  me 
M.  Dandelot! 

"  ' —  for  from  the  heights  of  the  faubourg  a  battery  of 
artillery  can  sweep  the  Remicourt  rampart  its  entire  length, 
from  the  Tower  a  1'Eau  to  the  Red  Tower.' 

"Tell  Marechal  de  Saint- Andre  to  come  here! 

"  'But  in  order  to  defend  the  Faubourg  d'Isle  and  the 
other  points  threatened,  I  shall  need  a  reinforcement  of  two 
thousand  men  at  least,  having  in  reality  but  five  or  six 
hundred  under  my  orders.' 

"Corbleuf  he  must  have  four  thousand!  I  wish  to  see 
the  Due  d'Enghien  at  once!  By  what  right  do  these  gen- 
tlemen sleep  when  I  am  awake?  M.  d'Enghien  immedi- 
ately! Let  us  see  what  my  nephew  has  to  say  further! 

"  'I  have  only  sixteen  pieces  of  cannon  and  forty  can- 
noniers;  I  have  only  fifty  or  sixty  arquebuses;  finally,  I 
have  only  ammunition  for  a  fortnight  and  provisions  for 
three  weeks.' 

"How!    is  all  this  true?"    cried  the  constable. 

"The  exact  truth  every  word,  monseigneur, "  replied 
Yvonnet,  graciously. 

"Indeed!  I  should  like  to  see  a  scoundrel  of  your  kind 
give  the  lie  to  my  nephew.  Hum ! ' ' 

And  the  constable  glared  ferociously  on  Yvonnet. 

Yvonnet  bowed  and  took  a  step  backward. 


"Why  do  you  step  back?"  asked  the  constable. 

"Because  I  think  monseigneur  has  no  more  questions  to 
ask  me. ' ' 

"  You  are  mistaken.     Come  here!" 

Yvonnet  resumed  his  place. 

"How  do  the  bourgeois  conduct  themselves?"  asked  the 

' '  Most  excellently,  monseigneur. ' ' 

"The  rascals!  I  should  like  to  see  them  do  other- 

' '  Even  the  very  monks  have  taken  up  arms. ' ' 

"The  hypocrites!     And  you  say  they  fight?" 

"Like  lions.     And  as  to  the  women,  monseigneur — " 

"They  whine  and  weep  and  tremble,  eh?  It  is  all  the 
jades  are  good  for. ' ' 

"On  the  contrary,  monseigneur,  they  encourage  the  com- 
batants, nurse  the  wounded,  and  bury  the  dead. ' ' 

"The  trollops!" 

At  this  moment  the  door  opened,  and  a  gentleman  all 
armed,  except  his  head,  which  was  covered  with  a  velvet 
cap,  made  his  appearance  on  the  threshold. 

"Ah,  come  here,  M.  Dandelot!"  said  the  constable. 
"Here  is  your  brother  making  such  an  outcry  in  his  city 
of  Saint- Quentin  that  one  would  think  somebody  was  going 
to  cut  his  throat. ' ' 

"Monseigneur,"  said  M.  Dandelot,  laughing,  "if  your 
nephew,  my  brother,  is  making  such  an  outcry,  you  know 
him  well  enough  to  be  sure  it  is  not  from  fear. ' ' 

"Oh,  yes,  morbleuf  I  know  something  is  wrong,  and 
that's  what  annoys  me.  So  I  have  summoned  you  and  M. 
le  Marechal  de  Saint- Andre. " 

"Here  I  am,  monseigneur,"  interrupted  the  marshal, 
appearing  in  turn  at  the  entrance  to  the  room. 

"Good,  good,  marshal;  but  M.  d'Enghien  is  apparently 
not  coming. ' ' 

"Excuse   me,   monseigneur,"    said  the  duke,   entering; 

"here  I  am." 


"Tripes  et  boyaux,  messieurs!"  said  the  constable,  hurl- 
ing his  rough  oath  the  more  violently  at  them  because,  as 
all  seemed  to  be  performing  their  duty,  he  had  no  excuse 
for  gratifying  the  habitual  ill- humor  that  formed  the  basis 
of  his  character;  "tripes  et  boyaux,  gentlemen,  we  are  not 
in  Capua,  to  sleep  as  if  nothing  was  the  matter!" 

' '  The  accusation  does  not  touch  me, ' '  said  the  marshal, 
"for  I  have  been  up  already." 

"And  I,"  said  the  Dae  d'Enghien,  "have  not  yet  been 
to  bed." 

"No;  I  was  speaking  of  M.  Dandelot." 

"Of  me!"  said  Dandelot;  "pardon  me,  monseigneur;  I 
have  been  making  the  rounds,  and  have  been  here  before 
these  gentlemen.  I  was  on  horseback  when  I  met  them, 
and  have  come  here  on  horseback." 

"Then  I  suppose  I  must  be  speaking  of  myself,"  said 
Montmorency.  "It  seems  I  am  now  old  and  good  for 
nothing,  since  I  am  the  only  one  who  has  been  in  bed. 
Tete  et  sang!" 

"But,  constable,"  returned  Dandelot,  laughing,  "who 
the  devil  has  said  such  a  thing?" 

"No  one,  I  hope;  for  I  would  break  his  jaw,  as  I  broke 
the  jaw  of  that  ill-omened  prophet  I  met  on  the  highway 
the  other  day.  But  we  have  something  else  to  attend  to. 
We  have  to  see  how  we  can  help  this  poor  Coligny  who  has 
fifty  thousand  men  pegging  away  at  him.  Fifty  thousand 
men !  What  do  you  say  to  it  ?  In  my  opinion,  my  nephew 
is  afraid  and  sees  double. ' ' 

The  three  officers  smiled  at  the  same  time  and  with  the 
same  expression. 

' '  If  my  brother  says  fifty  thousand  men, ' '  said  Dandelot, 
"there  are  fifty  thousand  men,  monseigneur." 

' '  And  more  likely  sixty  thousand  than  fifty  thousand, ' ' 
said  the  marshal. 

"And  what  do  you  think,  M.  d'Enghien?" 

"Of  course  the  same  as  those  gentlemen  do,  M.  le  Con- 


"Then  you  are  as  usual  of  an  opinion  directly  opposed 
to  mine?" 

"No,  monseigneur, "  replied  Dandelot;  "but  we  are  of 
the  opinion  that  the  admiral  tells  the  truth." 

"Well,  are  you  ready  to  run  some  risk  to  help  the 

"I  am  ready  to  risk  my  life,"  answered  Dandelot. 

"And  we  also,"  replied  the  Marechal  de  Saint- Andre 
and  the  Due  d'Enghien  in  the  same  tone. 

' '  Then  all  is  well, ' '  said  the  constable. 

After  this,  turning  round  toward  the  antechamber,  in 
which  there  was  a  great  noise — 

"Oorbleuf"  he  exclaimed,  "where  does  all  that  racket 
come  from  ?" 

"Monseigneur,"  said  one  of  the  sub-officers  of  the  guard, 
"it  is  a  man  who  has  just  been  arrested  at  the  gate  of 

"Off  with  him  to  prison,  then!" 

"It  is  thought  he  is  a  soldier  disguised  as  a  peasant." 

"Have  him  hanged!" 

"But  he  appeals  to  M.  1'Amiral,  and  says  he  has  come 
from  him. ' ' 

"Has  he  a  letter  or  safe- conduct?" 

' '  No,  and  that  is  why  we  thought  he  might  be  a  spy. ' ' 

"Let  him  be  broken  on  the  wheel!" 

"An  instant!"  cried  a  voice  in  the  antechamber;  "even 
M.  le  Connetable  cannot  break  people  on  the  wheel  in  that 
fashion. ' ' 

And  after  some  clamor  and  a  noise  indicating  there  had 
been  a  struggle,  a  man  rushed  from  the  antechamber  into 
the  room. 

"Ah!"  cried  Yvonnet,  "take  care  of  what  you  do,  mon- 
seigneur ;  it  is  Maldent. ' ' 

"Maldent;  what  has  that  to  do  with  it?"  asked  the 

"It  is  the  second  messenger  sent  by  M.  1'Amiral,  and 
who,  having  set  out  from  Saint- Quentin  at  the  same  time 


as  I,  arrives  naturally  two  hours  after  me,  having  come 
by  Ham." 

And  in  fact  it  was  Maldent,  who,  not  finding  the  con- 
stable at  Ham,  had  taken  a  horse  and  galloped  to  La  Fere, 
fearing  that  some  obstacle  might  have  stopped  Yvonnet  on 
the  road. 

Now  how  was  it  that  Maldent,  who  had  started  dressed 
as  a  soldier,  and  with  a  letter  from  the  admiral,  arrived 
dressed  as  a  peasant  and  without  a  letter  ?  It  is  a  problem 
which  our  readers,  with  their  customary  perspicacity,  will 
be  able  to  solve  in  one  of  the  following  chapters. 



LET  our  readers  not  be  surprised  at  seeing  us  follow, 
with  a  minuteness  belonging  to  the  historian  rather 
than  to  the  romancer,  all  the  details,  every  point 
in  the  attack  and  defence,  of  that  glorious  siege  of  Saint- 
Quentin — a  siege  equally  glorious  for  besieger  and  besieged. 

Moreover,  in  our  opinion,  the  glory  of  a  country  is  made 
up  of  its  defeats  quite  as  much  as  of  its  victories;  the  glory 
of  our  triumphs  is  enhanced  by  that  of  our  reverses. 

What  people,  in  fact,  would  not  have  succumbed  after 
Crecy,  Poitiers,  Agincourt,  Pa  via,  Saint- Quentin,  or  Water- 
loo ?  But  the  hand  of  God  was  over  France,  and  after  each 
fall  France  rose  greater  than  she  was  before. 

It  was  after  bending  eight  times  under  his  cross  that 
Jesus  saved  the  world. 

France,  under  this  relation,  may  be  considered,  if  we  are 
permitted  to  say  so,  the  Christ  of  nations. 

Saint- Quentin  is  nevertheless  one  of  the  stations  on  her 
way  of  the  cross. 

Her  cross  was  the  monarchy. 

Happily  behind  the  monarchy  was  the  people. 


This  time  again,  behind  the  fallen  monarchy,  we  are 
about  to  see  the  people  standing. 

During  the  night  following  the  departure  of  Yvonnet 
and  Maldent,  the  admiral  was  warned  that  the  sentinels 
mounting  guard  at  the  Faubourg  d'Isle  believed  they  heard 
the  sound  of  sappers  at  work. 

Coligny  rose  and  ran  to  the  threatened  point. 

The  admiral  was  an  experienced  captain.  He  leaped 
from  his  horse,  lay  down  on  the  rampart,  placed  his  ear  to 
the  ground,  and  listened. 

Then,  rising — 

"It  is  not,"  he  said,  "the  noise  of  sappers;  it  is  the  roll- 
ing of  cannon.  The  enemy  is  about  to  erect  a  battery 
against  us." 

The  officers  looked  at  one  another. 

Then  Jarnac  advanced  and  said — 

"You  know,  M.  1'Amiral,  that  it  is  the  opinion  of  every 
one  the  place  is  not  tenable  ?" 

The  admiral  smiled. 

"It  is  mine  also,  gentlemen,"  said  he;  "and  yet,  you 
see,  we  have  held  it  for  the  last  five  days.  If,  when  urged 
by  you,  I  had  retreated,  the  Faubourg  d'Isle  would  have 
been  in  the  hands  of  the  Spaniards  for  the  last  five  days, 
and  all  their  preparations  for  attacking  the  city  on  this  side 
completed.  Now  let  us  not  forget  this,  gentlemen:  every 
day  gained  is  as  useful  to  us  as  are  the  last  breathing  spells 
to  the  stag  pursued  by  the  hunters. ' ' 

"Then  your  opinion  is,  monseigneur  ?" 

' '  My  opinion  is  that  we  have  done  on  this  side  all  that  it 
is  humanly  possible  to  do,  and  that  we  must  carry  in  another 
direction  our  energy,  devotion,  and  vigilance. 

The  officers  acquiesced  with  a  bow. 

"At  daybreak,"  continued  Coligny,  "the  Spanish  can- 
non will  be  formed  in  battery,  and  the  firing  will  begin;  at 
daybreak,  therefore,  all  the  artillery  we  have  here,  as  well 
as  all  the  ammunition,  balls,  bales  of  wool,  carts,  hand- 
barrows,  pickaxes,  and  pioneers'  tools,  must  be  in  the  city. 


One  part  of  our  men  will  attend  to  this;  another  will  pile 
up  fagots  and  fascines  in  the  houses,  and  set  them  on  fire; 
I  shall  myself  protect  the  retreat  of  our  soldiers  and  cut  the 
bridges  behind  them. ' ' 

Then  when  he  saw  around  him  the  poor  unfortunates 
to  whom  these  houses  belonged,  and  who  were  listening  to 
him  with  an  expression  of  despair — 

"My  friends,"  said  he,  "if  your  ^houses  were  spared  by 
us,  they  would  be  demolished  by  the  Spaniards,  who  would 
use  the  wood  and  stone  for  constructing  masks  and  digging 
their  trenches ;  sacrifice  them,  therefore,  in  the  name  of  your 
king  and  country.  I  assign  to  you  the  task  of  setting  them 
on  fire. ' ' 

The  inhabitants  of  the  Faubourg  d'Isle  looked  at  one 
another,  exchanged  some  words  in  a  low  tone,  and  one  of 
them,  advancing,  said — 

"M.  1'Amiral,  my  name  is  Gruillaume  Pauquet;  you  see 
my  house  from  here.  It  is  the  largest  in  the  quarter.  I 
shall  set  fire  to  it  with  my  own  hands;  and  my  neighbors 
and  friends,  here  present,  are  prepared  to  do  to  theirs  what 
I  am  about  to  do  to  mine. ' ' 

"Is  this  true,  my  children  ?"  said  the  admiral,  with  tears 
in  his  eyes. 

"Is  what  you  demand  for  the  good  of  the  king  and 
country,  M.  1'Amiral?" 

"If  we  can  only  hold  out  for  a  fortnight,  my  friends, 
France  is  saved!"  said  Coligny. 

' '  And  to  hold  out  even  for  ten  days,  must  we  burn  our 
houses  ?" 

' '  I  believe,  my  friends,  it  is  necessary. ' ' 

"Then,  if  the  houses  are  burned,  you  promise  to  hold 
out  for  ten  days?" 

"I  promise,  my  friends,  to  do  all  that  a  gentleman  de- 
voted to  my  king  and  country  can  do, ' '  said  the  admiral. 
"Whoever  speaks  of  surrender  shall  be  thrown  over  the 
walls  by  me;  and  if  I  speak  of  surrender,  do  the  same 
to  me." 


"It  is  well,  M.  1'Amiral,!'  said  one  of  the  inhabitants 
of  the  faubourg ;  ' '  since  you  order  us  to  burn  our  houses, 
we  are  going  to  set  them  on  fire." 

"But, "  said  a  voice,  "I  hope  the  abbey  of  Saint- Quentin- 
en-Isle  may  be  spared." 

The  admiral  turned  in  the  direction  of  the  voice,  and 
recognized  Lactance. 

" Saint- Quentin-en-Isle  less  than  all  the  rest,"  answered 
the  admiral.  "The  rampart  of  Kemicourt  is  commanded 
from  the  platform  of  Saint-Quentin-en-Isle;  and  a  battery 
of  cannon  established  there  would  render  the  defence  of 
the  rampart  impossible." 

Lactance  raised  his  eyes  to  heaven,  and  heaved  a  pro- 
found sigh. 

"Besides,"  continued  the  admiral,  smiling.  "Saint- 
Quentin  is,  above  all,  guardian  of  the  city,  and  he  will 
not  take  umbrage  at  our  ruining  his  abbey  to  save  his 

Then,  taking  advantage  of  this  moment  of  goodwill 
which  seemed  to  inspire  all  and  each  with  the  same  devo- 
tion, he  ordered  the  cannon  to  be  drawn  to  the  city,  as  well 
as  the  different  objects  mentioned  by  him,  and  everything 
to  be  done  in  the  greatest  possible  silence. 

This  work  was  begun  with  as  much  zeal,  it  must  be 
said,  as  was  displayed  by  those  carrying  fascines  into  their 
houses;  men  harnessed  themselves  cheerfully  and  coura- 
geously to  the  cannon  and  carts,  and  set  to  work  hauling 
them  into  the  city. 

At  two  in  the  morning  all  was  finished;  and  there  re- 
mained behind  the  old  wall  only  the  number  of  arquebusiers 
necessary  to  deceive  the  enemy  into  the  belief  that  it  was 
still  defended,  and  the  men  who,  with  torch  in  hand,  were 
ready  to  set  fire  to  their  houses. 

At  daybreak,  as  the  admiral  had  foreseen,  the  enemy 
fired  the  first  volley.  A  breaching  battery  had  been  estab- 
lished during  the  night,  and  it  was  the  noise  made  by  the 
men  forming  it  the  admiral  had  heard. 



This  first  volley  was  the  signal  agreed  on  for  setting  fire 
to  the  houses.  Not  one  of  the  inhabitants  hesitated;  each 
applied  his  torch,  and  in  a  moment  a  curtain  of  smoke  rose 
in  the  sky,  soon  to  be  succeeded  by  a  curtain  of  flame. 

The  faubourg  was  burning  from  the  church  of  Saint-Eloi 
to  the  church  of  Saint- Pierre- au- Canal;  but  in  the  midst  of 
this  immense  furnace,  the  abbey  of  Saint- Quentin  remained 
intact,  as  if  some  superhuman  power  had  turned  the  con- 
flagration aside  from  it. 

Three  times  did  citizens  and  soldiers  and  workmen, 
through  fire,  and  over  the  flying  bridges — for  the  others 
had  been  cut  down — renew  the  attempt  to  destroy  it,  and 
three  times  did  the  attempt  fail. 

The  admiral  from  the  top  of  the  gate  of  Isle  was  watch- 
ing the  progress  of  the  flames,  when  Jean  Pauquet,  sepa- 
rating from  those  around  him  and  approaching  the  admiral 
with  his  woollen  cap  in  his  hand,  said — 

' '  Monseigneur,  an  old  man  of  the  city  says  he  has  heard 
his  father  tell  of  a  storehouse  of  powder  existing  in  one  of 
the  two  towers  flanking  the  gate  of  Isle,  if  not  in  both. ' ' 

"Good!"  said  the  admiral,  "we  must  see  to  this.  Where 
are  the  keys?" 

"Ah,  the  keys!"  said  Jean  Pauquet,  "who  can  know 
anything  about  them?  The  doors  have  not  been  opened 
for  the  last  hundred  years,  perhaps." 

' '  Then  we  must  get  levers  and  crowbars  to  open  them. ' ' 

"They  are  not  needed,"  said  a  voice;  "let  me  drive 
against  the  door,  and  the  door  will  open." 

And  Heinrich  Scharfenstein,  followed  by  his  nephew 
Franz,  advanced  three  steps  toward  Coligny. 

"Ah,  it  is  you,  my  brave  giant?"  said  the  admiral. 

"Yes,  I  and  my  nephew  Franz." 

"Well,  push,  my  friend!  push!"  And  the  two  Scharf- 
ensteins  approached  each  a  folding- door,  buttressed  him- 
self against  it,  and  with  the  same  mechanical  action  and 
the  same  movement,  counted: 

"Mn!  zwei!  dreif" 


And  at  the  word  drei,  each,  making  a  mighty  effort, 
drove  in  the  leaf  he  was  planted  against,  and  so  success- 
fully that  each  fell  with  it. 

.  Only  as  the  resistance  offered  by  the  doors  was  different, 
Franz  fell  headlong  his  whole  length,  while  Heinrich  was 
lucky  enough  to  fall  on  his  hips. 

But  both  rose  up  with  their  customary  gravity,  saying — 


They  entered  the  towers. 

One  of  them,  as  Jean  Pauquet  had  stated,  did  in  fact 
contain  two  or  three  thousand  pounds  of  powder;  but,  as 
he  had  also  said,  this  powder  had  been  there  so  long  that 
when  the  kegs  were  lifted  they  fell  into  dust. 

The  admiral  then  ordered  sheets  to  be  brought  and  the 
powder  to  be  transported  to  the  arsenal. 

As  soon  as  he  saw  the  order  was  being  executed,  he  re- 
turned to  breakfast  and  to  get  a  little  rest,  having  been  on 
his  feet  since  midnight,  and  eaten  nothing  since  the  evening 

He  had  just  sat  down  to  table  when  it  was  announced 
that  one  of  the  messengers  sent  by  him  to  the  constable  had 
returned  and  asked  to  speak  to  him  without  delay. 

It  was  Yvonnet. 

Yvonnet  announced  that  the  succors  demanded  by  him 
would  arrive  the  next  day,  under  the  command  of  M.  Dan- 
delot,  Marechal  de  Saint- Andre  and  the  Due  d'Enghien. 

They  were  to  consist  of  four  thousand  foot-soldiers,  who 
would  follow  the  Savy  route,  as  the  admiral  suggested,  and 
enter  by  the  Faubourg  de  Ponthoille. 

Maldent  had  remained  at  La  Fere  to  act  as  guide  to 
M.  Dandelot. 

Yvonnet  was  at  this  stage  of  his  recital  and  had  raised 
a  glass  of  wine  poured  out  for  him  to  drink  to  the  health  of 
the  admiral,  when  all  at  once  the  earth  trembled,  the  walls 
shook,  the  glass  of  the  windows  flew  in  pieces,  and  a  roar 
was  heard  like  that  of  a  hundred  pieces  of  cannon  dis- 
charged at  the  same  time. 


The  admiral  rose;  Yvonnet,  seized  with  one  of  his 
nervous  movements,  rested  his  glass,  still  full,  on  the  table. 

At  the  same  time  a  cloud  passed  over  the  city,  borne  by 
the  west  wind,  and  a  strong  stench  of  sulphur  spread  into 
the  room  through  the  broken  glass. 

"Oh,  the  unhappy  men!"  cried  the  admiral;  "they  did 
not  take  the  proper  precautions,  and  the  powder  has 
blown  up!" 

Immediately,  without  waiting  for  news,  he  left  the 
house  and  ran  to  the  gate  of  Isle. 

All  the  population  was  hurrying  to  the  same  quarter; 
it  was  useless  for  Coligny  to  make  inquiries ;  these  people 
were  hurrying  in  the  direction  of  the  noise,  but  were  igno- 
rant of  its  cause. 

Coligny  was  not  mistaken ;  the  interior  of  the  tower  was 
gutted  and  smoking  like  the  crater  of  a  volcano.  A  spark 
from  the  immense  conflagration  in  the  neighborhood  had 
entered  through  an  embrasure,  and  set  fire  to  the  terrible 

Forty  or  fifty  persons  had  perished ;  five  officers  had 

The  tower  offered  a  breach  to  the  enemy  by  which 
twenty -five  assailants  could  mount  in  a  line. 

Fortunately,  the  veil  of  smoke  and  flame  between  the 
faubourg  and  city  concealed  this  breach  from  the  Span- 
iards. The  devotion  of  the  inhabitants,  who  had  set  fire 
to  their  houses,  had  then  saved  the  city. 

Coligny  understood  the  danger:  he  appealed  to  the  good- 
will of  all ;  but  the  bourgeois  alone  responded.  The  soldiers 
who  had  been  withdrawn  from  the  faubourg  had  gone  away 
to  rest  and  refresh  themselves. 

Among  those  who  had  done  so.  were  the  two  Scharf en- 
steins  ;  but  as  their  tent  was  only  about  fifty  yards  from  the 
theatre  of  the  event,  they  were  among  the  first  to  answer 
the  appeal  of  the  admiral. 

Two  precious  auxiliaries  were  uncle  Heinrich  and  nephew 
Franz  under  the  circumstances;  their  herculean  strength, 


their  gigantic  stature,  made  them  fit  for  everything.  They 
took  off  their  jackets,  turned  up  their  sleeves,  and  became 

Three  hours  after,  whether  it  were  that  the  enemy  knew 
nothing  of  what  had  occurred  or  was  preparing  another  en- 
terprise, the  tower  was  repaired  without  any  opposition  and 
rendered  almost  as  solid  as  before. 

All  that  day — it  was  the  7th  of  August — passed  without 
the  enemy  making  the  slightest  demonstration;  he  seemed 
to  confine  himself  to  a  simple  blockade.  Without  doubt,  he 
was  awaiting  the  arrival  of  the  English  army. 

During  the  evening,  the  sentinels  noticed  some  move- 
ment in  the  direction  of  the  Faubourg  d'Isle. 

The  Spaniards  of  Carondelet  and  Julian  Eomeron,  taking 
advantage  of  the  dying  out  of  the  conflagration,  were  begin- 
ning to  appear  in  the  faubourg  and  draw  near  the  city. 

Thereupon  all  the  watchfulness  of  the  besieged  was  exer- 
cised on  that  side. 

In  the  evening  at  ten,  the  admiral  called  a  council  of  the 
chief  officers  of  the  garrison;  he  announced  that  the  ex- 
pected reinforcement  would,  in  all  probability,  arrive  that 
night.  The  wall  must  be  secretly  manned  from  Tourival  to 
the  gate  of  Ponthoille,  in  order  to  hold  themselves  in  readi- 
ness to  bring  aid,  if  necessary,  to  Dandelot  and  his  men. 

Yvonnet,  who,  in  his  capacity  as  messenger,  had  been  ini- 
tiated into  all  these  arrangements,  was  delighted  with  them, 
and  as  far  as  lay  in  his  power — for  his  peculiar  knowledge 
of  certain  localities  gave  him  considerable  influence — he 
pushed  his  nocturnal  investigations  in  the  direction  of  the 
Remicourt,  Isle  and  Ponthoille  gates. 

This  new  disposition,  in  fact,  left  the  rampart  of  the 
Yieux-Marche  entirely  free  from  troops,  except  a  few  sen- 
tinels; and  it  was  there,  as  the  reader  will  recall,  that  the 
house  of  Jean  Pauquet  was  situated,  and  especially  the  little 
pavilion  inhabited  by  Mademoiselle  Guclule. 

Consequently,  about  eleven,  on  one  of  those  gloomy 
nights  so  esteemed  and  blessed  by  lovers  on  the  way  to 


their  mistresses,  and  by  warriors  preparing  a  surprise,  our 
adventurer,  followed  by  Heinrich  and  Franz,  armed,  like 
him,  to  the  teeth,  was  advancing  cautiously  through  the 
Rue  des  Hosiers,  de  la  Fosse,  and  de  Saint-Jean,  which  lat- 
ter connects — at  about  a  hundred  yards  from  the  tower 
Dameuse — with  the  rampart  of  the  Yieux-Marche. 

The  three  adventurers  followed  this  road  because  they 
knew  all  the  space  extending  between  the  tower  Dameuse 
and  the  gate  of  the  Yieux-Marche  was  free  from  sentinels, 
the  enemy  not  having  yet  made  'any  demonstration  on  this  side. 

The  boulevard  was  therefore  gloomy  and  deserted. 

Why  was  this  band,  which,  in  spite  of  its  formidable 
appearance,  had  not  any  hostile  appearance,  composed  of 
Heinrich  and  Franz  on  the  one  side  and  of  Yvonnet 
on  the  other? 

By  that  natural  law  which  decrees  that  in  this  world 
weakness  must  seek  strength,  and  strength  must  love 

With  whom,  among  his  eight  companions,  was  Yvonnet 
most  closely  united?  With  Heinrich  and  Franz.  Why? 
Because  they  were  the  strongest,  and  he  was  the  weakest. 

As  soon  as  the  two  Scharfensteins  had  a  moment  to 
themselves,  whose  society  did  they  run  to  seek? 

Yvonnet 's. 

Consequently,  when  Yvonnet  needed  help,  whose  help 
did  he  seek  ? 

That  of  the  two  Scharfensteins. 

Under  his  garb,  always  so  carefully  attended  to,  always 
so  elegant  and  dainty,  and  contrasting  so  strangely  with  the 
rough,  soldierly  dress  of  the  two  giants,  Yvonnet,  when  fol- 
lowed by  them,  resembled  some  aristocratic  child  holding 
two  mastiffs  in  leash. 

It  was,  as  we  have  said,  because  of  this  attraction  of 
weakness  for  strength,  and  this  sympathy  of  strength  for 
weakness,  that  on  this  very  evening,  Yvonnet  asked  the  two 
Scharfensteins  to  come  along  with  him,  and  that  the  latter, 
as  usual,  answered,  as  they  rose  and  armed  themselves — 


1 '  Very  willingly,  Meinherr  Yvonnet. ' ' 

For  the  two  Scharfensteins  addressed  Yvonnet  as  Mein- 
herr—&  distinction  they  did  not  grant  to  any  other  of  their 

It  was  because  their  affection  for  Yvonnet  was  mingled 
with  a  profound  respect. 

Never  did  uncle  or  nephew  presume  to  speak  first  in  the 
presence  of  the  young  adventurer;  no,  they  heard  him  talk 
of  fine  women,  fine  arms,  fine  dress,  satisfied  to  give  a  nod 
of  assent,  or  breaking  into  one  of  their  big  laughs,  when  an 
evident  witticism  claimed  such  attention. 

Where  Yvonnet  was  going  when  Yvonnet  said,  "Come 
with  me!"  concerned  them  little;  he  said,  "Come!"  that 
was  enough,  and  they  followed  this  charming  star  of  their 
fancy  as  satellites  follow  a  planet. 

This  evening,  Yvonnet  was  going  to  his  mistress ;  he  had 
said  to  the  two  Scharfensteins,  "Come!"  and,  as  we  see, 
they  came. 

But  with  what  object,  since  the  presence  of  a  third  party 
at  such  a  rendezvous  is  always  annoying,  did  Yvonnet  ask 
for  the  company  of  the  two  giants  ? 

In  the  first  place,  let  us  hasten  to  say  that  the  brave 
Grermans  were  not  troublesome  witnesses.  They  closed  one 
eye,  they  closed  two,  they  closed  three,  they  closed  four,  on 
a  word,  a  sign,  a  gesture  from  their  comrade,  and  kept 
them  religiously  closed  until  a  word,  a  sign,  or  a  gesture 
of  their  comrade  allowed  them  to  open  them. 

Yvonnet  brought  them  with  him  because,  it  will  be  re- 
membered, to  reach  the  window  of  Grudule's  pavilion  he 
needed  a  ladder;  and,  instead  of  taking  a  ladder,  he  found 
it  simpler  to  take  the  two  Scharfensteins,  which  absolutely 
amounted  to  the  same  thing. 

The  young  man  had,  as  may  be  imagined,  a  collection  of 
signals,  sounds  and  cries,  by  the  aid  of  which  he  announced 
his  arrival  to  his  mistress ;  but  this  evening  he  needed  not 
signal  nor  sound  nor  cry — Ghidule  was  at  her  window,  ex- 
pecting him. 


Nevertheless,  when  she  saw  three  men  coming  instead  of 
one,  she  prudently  retreated. 

But  when  Yvonnet  separated  from  his  companions,  he 
was  recognized;  and  the  young  girl,  still  trembling,  but 
no  longer  frightened,  came  back  to  the  window. 

Yvonnet  explained  in  two  words  the  danger  a  soldier 
ran  in  a  besieged  city  walking  with  a  ladder  on  his  back; 
a  patrol  might  believe  he  carried  the  ladder  with  the  view 
of  communicating  with  the  besiegers.  Once  such  a  belief 
settled  in  the  mind  of  the  patrol,  it  would  be  necessary  to 
have  explanations  with  the  patrol's  officer,  with  the  captain, 
perhaps  with  the  governor,  and  account  for  the  destination 
of  the  ladder;  now,  however  delicately  these  explanations 
might  be  managed,  the  honor  of  Mademoiselle  Gudule 
would  be  compromised. 

It  was  better,  then,  to  bring  two  sure  friends,  on  whose 
discretion  he  could  rely,  like  his  two  comrades. 

But  how  would  these  friends  take  the  place  of  a  ladder  ? 
This  Mademoiselle  Gudule  had  some  trouble  in  understanding. 

Yvonnet  resolved  to  lose  no  time  in  developing  his 
theory,  but  to  proceed  at  once  to  a  demonstration.  With 
this  object,  he  called  the  two  Scharfensteins,  who,  open- 
ing the  immense  compass  of  their  legs,  were  beside  him 
in  three  strides. 

Then  he  backed  up  the  uncle  against  the  wall,  and  made 
a  sign  to  the  nephew. 

In  less  time  than  it  takes  to  relate  it,  Franz  placed  one 
foot  between  the  joined  hands  of  his  uncle  and  another  on 
his  shoulder;  then,  having  reached  the  top  of  the  window, 
he  took  Mademoiselle  Gudule  by  the  waist,  she  regarding 
him  with  much  curiosity  all  the  time ;  and  before  she  could 
make  a  motion  to  defend  herself — a  motion  she  would  per- 
haps not  have  made,  even  if  she  had  time  for  it — she  found 
herself  borne  from  her  chamber  and  placed  on  the  boulevard 
beside  Yvonnet. 

"There,"  said  Franz,  laughing,  "there  you  have  the 
young  woman  you  asked  for." 


"Thanks,"  said  Yvonnet. 

And,  drawing  the  arm  of  the  young  woman  within  his 
own,  he  led  her  to  the  obscurest  part  of  the  rampart. 

This  was  the  circular  summit  of  one  of  the  towers,  and 
protected  by  a  parapet  three  feet  high. 

The  two  Scharfensteins  sat  down  on  a  stone  bench  lying 
along  the  curtain. 

It  is  not  our  intention  to  relate  here  the  conversation  of 
Mademoiselle  G-udule  and  Yvonnet.  They  were  young,  and 
in  love ;  they  had  not  met  for  three  nights  and  three  days, 
and  had  so  much  to  say  that  a  report  of  their  quarter  of  an 
hour's  discourse  would  certainly  exceed  the  limits  of  this 

We  say  a  quarter  of  an  hour's,  because  at  the  end  of  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  notwithstanding  the  animation  of  the 
dialogue,  Yvonnet  suddenly  stopped,  placed  his  hand  on 
the  pretty  mouth  of  the  young  girl,  leaned  forward,  and 

A  sound  like  that  made  by  the  steady  tramp  of  a  great 
number  of  feet  on  the  turf  seemed  to  come  to  his  ear  as 
he  listened. 

Looking  forward,  he  thought  he  saw  an  immense  black 
serpent  creeping  up  to  the  wall. 

But  the  night  was  so  dark  and  the  noise  so  imperceptible 
that  all  this  might  be  an  illusion  as  well  as  a  reality,  espe- 
cially as  the  sound  and  movement  suddenly  stopped. 

Yvonnet  looked  and  listened,  but  neither  saw  nor  heard 
anything  more. 

Yet  while  holding  the  young  girl  clasped  to  his  breast, 
he  kept  his  eyes  eagerly  fixed  on  the  point  to  which  they 
were  first  directed,  and  stretched  his  neck  out  between  the 

Soon  he  thought  he  saw  the  gigantic  serpent  raise  its 
head  against  the  gray  wall,  and  rise  along  this  wall,  as  if 
jio  reach  the  parapet  of  the  curtain. 

Then,  like  a  hydra-headed  monster,  the  serpent  darted 
)ui  a  second  head  near  the  first,  and  a  third  near  the  second. 


Upon  this  all  became  clear  to  Yvonnet;  without  losing 
a  minute,  he  took  Gudule  in  his  arms,  and,  recommending 
her  to  be  silent,  passed  her  to  Franz,  who,  with  the  aid  of 
his  uncle,  restored  her  to  her  chamber  in  the  same  manner 
in  which  she  had  been  carried  out  of  it. 

Then,  running  to  the  nearest  ladder,  the  young  man 
reached  it  just  as  the  first  Spaniard  stood  upon  the  parapet 
of  the  curtain. 

Great  as  was  the  darkness,  a  gleam  of  light  could  be  seen 
through  the  shadow;  next  a  cry  was  heard,  and  the  Span- 
iard, pierced  by  the  slender  sword  of  Yvonnet,  fell  backward 
from  the  wall. 

The  noise  of  his  fall  was  lost  in  a  frightful  crash ;  it  was 
the  second  ladder  laden  with  men,  which,  hurled  back  by 
the  sinewy  arm  of  Heinrich,  tore  along  the  wall  with  a 
hoarse,  grating  sound. 

On  his  side,  Franz  discovered  an  abandoned  beam  in  his 
path;  and,  raising  it  above  his  head,  he  let  it  fall  on  the 
very  centre  of  the  third  ladder. 

The  ladder  was  broken  at  a  place  above  two-thirds  of  its 
height  from  the  ground;  and  men,  ladder,  and  beam  were 
pitched  pellmell  into  the  fosse. 

Meanwhile  Yvonnet,  while  striking  with  all  his  might, 
was  at  the  same  time  shouting  as  loudly  as  he  could — 

"To  arms!  to  arms!" 

The  two  Scharfensteins  ran  to  his  aid,  at  the  very  mo- 
ment two  or  three  Spaniards  had  set  foot  on  the  rampart 
and  were  pressing  him  closely. 

One .  of  the  assailants  fell  cloven  by  the  enormous  sword 
of  Heinrich;  another  rolled  senseless  under  the  mace  of 
Franz;  the  other,  as  he  was  making  ready  to  strike 
Yvonnet,  was  seized  by  the  waist  by  one  of  the  two 
giants,  and  hurled  over  the  wall. 

At  the  same  moment  Jean  and  Guillaume  Pauquet  ap- 
peared at  the  extremity  of  the  Kue  du  Vieux-Marche, 
attracted  by  the  cries  of  the  three  adventurers,  and  bear- 
ing each  a  torch  in  one  hand  and  an  axe  in  the  other. 


From  that  moment  the  surprise  was  a  failure;  and  in 
response  to  the  united  cries  of  the  bourgeois  and  the  adven- 
turers, succors  arrived  both  from  the  Saint- Jean  tower  and 
the  big  tower  bordering  on  the  Faubourg  Ponthoille. 

Then  at  the  same  time,  and  as  if  all  these  attacks  had 
been  part  of  one  general  movement,  and  arranged  to  break 
out  together,  the  detonation  of  a  thousand  arquebuses  was 
heard  half  a  league  away  in  the  plain,  in  the  direction  of 
Savy,  behind  the  chapel  of  Epargnemaille ;  and  between 
the  earth  and  the  sky  arose  that  reddish  cloud  which  hov- 
ers above  a  lively  fusillade. 

The  two  enterprises — that  of  the  Spaniards  to  surprise  the 
city,  and  that  of  Dandelot  to  succor  it — had  both  failed. 

We  have  seen  how  chance  caused  the  failure  of  that  of 
the  Spaniards;  we  must  now  tell  how  this  same  chance 
caused  the  failure  of  that  of  the  French.